


A Dahlia in Danger

by dralexreid



Series: Dr Piper Bishop [65]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Typical Violence, Fluff, Gen, Stalking, Violence, Whump, ian doyle arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28810923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dralexreid/pseuds/dralexreid
Summary: Emily Prentiss's past comes back to haunt her, a shadow holding an axe over not just her old team, but her new family too. Rewrite of S6E13-18.
Relationships: Dr Spencer Reid/Dr Piper Bishop
Series: Dr Piper Bishop [65]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1972852
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	1. The Thirteenth Step

“It is so not my fault you can’t handle salsa night,” Emily laughed with Piper trailing behind her.

“I could’ve broken an ankle, Em!” Piper retorted incredulously. “Come to salsa night, Piper,” she mocked as Emily continued to ignore her. “Let off some steam, Piper. Then scream in pain when you twist your ankle so that the entire crowd watches you limp off.”

“I should start handing out a waiver of liability form,” Emily sighed as Penelope joined them.

“How’s it going, strangers?”

“Emily almost broke my ankle last night salsa dancing.” Penelope smacked Piper’s arm.

“Where was my invite?” Piper shrugged.

“Probably got lost in one of Kevin’s cargo shorts.” Emily snickered at Piper’s retort as the trio walked through the bullpen.

“That…is a good point. I may need to hold an intervention, _but_ that is a topic for later. Em, a call for you from Sean McAllister came to my phone accidentally,” Penelope said, passing Emily a note. “He sounded very hot and very important.”

“McAllister, that’s either American, Scottish or Canadian,” Piper said brightly.

“Don’t listen to her, she’s been reading books on surname etymology,” Emily dismissed, and Piper stuck her tongue out at her before taking a seat next to Spencer for the briefing. “Did he leave a message?”

“No. But it's from Paris,” Penelope said, excitedly. “A Scottish guy calling from Paris. Know this, Emily—even if he is ugly, Scottish guys are hot. It's the accent.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Emily said.

“So, what's the skinny? Is he an ex? International booty call?” Piper would be a poor profiler if she couldn’t read her best friend’s behaviour.

“No, he’s a friend.” Which was true, but it was slightly interesting what a Scotsman was doing in Paris, or how Emily would have a contact in Paris. But before she could continue on a line of investigation, Rossi interrupted, asking about Seaver and the moment was gone. A mass murder had occurred in Miles City, Montana with 6 people shot and murdered at a gas station, then another 8 people in Billings. The plan was to separate into three teams. Bishop and Prentiss would set up at the mobile station while Rossi and Reid would see the medical examiners, with Morgan and Hotch taking the crime scene. Piper had mapped out the route from Miles City to Billings, a total of 14 victims on each stop.

“Well, they’re definitely victims of opportunity but that’s not going to be enough for them,” Piper murmured, pinning up the last of the victim. She turned to see Emily biting her nails, her phone on the table next to her. “You know, a nail cutter would be more efficient…” she said, and Emily looked up, her hair coming down to her eyebrows. “And more hygienic.”

“Sorry,” she said, laughing nervously. “Old nervous habit.”

“Hey, I get it,” Piper said, taking a seat on the bar stools. “Derek’s made a running bet of how many times I run my hands through my hair on any given case.” Emily smiled.

“Does he know you know?” Piper shrugged.

“If he did, he wouldn’t lose so god damn always.” That earned a genuine laugh from Emily. “That’s better,” Piper murmured. “You wanna talk about the Paris Scotsman?”

“Depends on how much you know already,” Emily said, veering off-topic.

“I know he _is_ a friend, but you aren’t in contact with him a lot so the call’s unexpected. You’re biting your nails so, he’s either someone you hold in high regard or he might have something to say that you’re worried about.”

“Dahlia,” Emily murmured, not meeting Piper’s gaze. The doctor bit her lip in concern as Emily returned to work. They’d talked about floriography back when Piper was helping Emily move houses a few years ago. Emily had jokingly asked what flower Piper had thought captured her spirit, but Piper took it as a challenge, dropping her box to think. _A dahlia._ She’d explained the symbolism too, drawing on Emily’s elegance under pressure, her commitment to the team and layers to her personality. Since then, it had become a code word of sorts depending on the context. In some cases, it was a red flag for help, in others it meant ‘trust me’ but in this case, Emily was asking her to back off.

“Okay,” Piper accepted. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to look out for her or take care of her.

The case escalated by the time the team reconvened at the mobile station. Bishop had pointed out that they were picking spots along the I-94, heading west, stopping at gas stations which hinted at an eventual goal, one they hadn’t quite realised yet. Hotch and Morgan reported that they were looking for a married couple from the rice that they found spilled all over the second crime scene and the bottles of liquor missing, something Prentiss read as a honeymoon of sorts, something Rossi read as foreplay. Reid identified the crime as an obliteration attack evident from the extreme brutality he just saw, but the store clerks were the root of their aggression for some reason. The team had Garcia track marriage licenses in Montana, cross-referencing them with criminal records. Bishop asked her to keep a lookout for any sign of chemical inhibitors like alcohol or drugs before Morgan added another task to look at crimes of aggression within the last month of any store clerks in states east of Montana. Garcia had it within minutes, sending a list of ‘nefarious newly-weds’ to the group as well as the identity of two store clerks killed in Jamestown and Bowman, both in North Dakota. The team was crossing names off of their list, going through each background, checking if they were from North Dakota when the next call came in from Helena at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. None of them were particularly surprised when Spencer pointed out that the chronological gap between when they started the meeting and when the shooting started, which was approximately 45 minutes, meant that the group was in the sharing part of the meeting. Or when Piper flowed from his deduction that maybe at least one of the unsubs really was struggling with sobriety, especially the last few steps. Acknowledge your shortcomings, accept responsibility, and make amends. They spent the rest of the night either catching up on sleep or preparing their part of the profile.

The next morning, Hotch started the profile by describing their unsubs as a young married couple reminiscent of Bonnie and Clyde, in their late teens to mid-20s, with alcohol a significant factor in their crimes. Rossi identified that they were killing surrogates replacing deep-seated wounds, which meant they might be planning to try and deal with the original wound soon as they start to devolve, as Bishop suggested. Prentiss took over, telling the small crowd that one of the unsubs has a slight moral compass and that while unsub A was a sociopath, unsub B was a psychopath, leading to confusion within the crowd. So, Reid explained that sociopaths are less likely to participate in criminal activity and can be lured by a dominant, while psychopaths are consummate leaders and likely to engage and destroy anyone in their way. Bishop continued, predicting that they would cross into Idaho following the I-94 west. Once the profile was over with, Reid and Rossi broke through with Garcia on the identity of their unsubs before tracking them through Idaho and into Washington after the murder of Mr Donovan, ending in a showdown outside a gas station in Spokane. It was a tense confrontation with a young girl penned in the station by Ray Donovan and Sydney Manning. It took a bottle of whiskey and first-aid equipment as well as Derek whispering in Ray’s ear. Night fell on the profilers as all 6 raised their guns at the store until the small blonde inched out of the store. At Hotch’s assertion, Morgan sprinted forward, curling the little girl into a corner as a dark car tore through the back of the store to the front, forcing all the agents to shoot at the car. Eventually, one of Rossi’s bullets stuck, ripping through Ray’s skull violently. The case had ended fairly well, depending on who you asked. Reid, Prentiss and Bishop didn’t feel as strongly about it, still mulling over the tragic suicide-by-cop. Spencer had fallen asleep on Piper’s shoulder as she flipped through her anthropology book. Emily was sitting in front of her on the jet, gazing out the window, smirking every now and then when Reid scrunched his nose in his sleep or adjust himself on Bishop’s shoulder, as though he were checking she was still there.

“So, Heather’s with her mom. They’re moving, getting a fresh start in Seattle,” Piper updated her as the plane settled into its descent.

“I presume you’ve given them the number of a child psychiatrist,” Emily said, smiling.

“You know why I do it.” Emily licked her lips softly.

“Yeah. So, you can keep an eye on their recovery.” Piper closed the book, a finger kept on her page. The profiler in Emily couldn’t help noticing the psychology behind the small motion. Piper didn’t expect anything from the question she was going to ask, but it wouldn’t stop her from asking it anyway.

“I know you called it and I will back off if that’s what you want. But as a warning, I will be checking up on you every night.” Emily chuckled, lowering her head to hide it. “And I mean it. Every free night.”

“Gladiola,” Emily called her, leaning against the wall as Derek joined them with a cup of coffee.

“Who’s Gladiola?” Derek asked, confused by Piper’s soft smile.

“A mutual friend,” Piper said, returning to her book.

“Yeah, you’d love her,” Emily said, very discreet. “She’s tough, with a strong moral compass and the most faithful person you’ll ever meet.” Derek raised his eyebrow at Spencer as he rose from Piper’s shoulder with a yawn.

“You have any idea what these two are talking about?”

“I try not to meddle in these things. It never ends well,” Spencer said, suppressing a yawn. Derek winced, remembering the pie that had landed on his face when he’d attempted to investigate a surprise party for Hotch. Emily and Piper shared a grin that they wanted to last forever, not knowing it would fade that very night. When the jet hit the tarmac, Rossi and Morgan left to get a drink while Hotch went home eagerly with Jack. Piper and Spencer headed home for a game night with Penelope which Emily bailed on. As concerned Piper was, she had promised not to ask.

* * *

The bar was classy, Emily noted, walking past the twinkling fairy lights entwined in the ivy lining the wall. Piano music trilled as the raven-haired agent searched for an old friend. One who hadn’t needed to contact her in a long time. She walked over to the Scotsman sitting in the first booth, his beard and moustache familiar like the smile that spread on her face. She laughed warmly as he cheerfully said her name and she embraced him warmly. “Sean, how are you?”

“I’m good. Have a seat.”

“So, I was gonna call you back,” Emily assured him, placing her purse inside the booth and seating next to it. “I just got busy on a case.”

“I had to be in DC anyway,” Sean told her before diving into the real reason behind their contact. Emily’s smile faded at Sean’s gravity. “Ian Doyle vanished from prison. Interpol can’t find him.” Blood leeched from Emily’s face.

“What are you saying?”

“He’s off the grid, Emily.”

“Do you think he's headed here?” Sean’s face showed no emotion, perhaps a habit shared by all authority figures who were men. “Am I in danger?” She asked, her voice wavering in fear though her face didn’t show it.

“We all are.”


	2. Sense Memory

Emily felt a tightness between her shoulders as she walked up the steps to her apartment. Ian was gone and Emily had no idea what to do. That said, she did have a basic safety plan with all of her apartments. She only signed 3-year leases and moved after each one expired. She had a trusted alarm system rigged and after Piper’s friend and sister had been kidnapped right under her nose, Piper had rigged a two-factor verification system which meant a message was sent to her every time they reached home safely. It was the only way she could sleep at night and if Emily were honest, she felt better knowing someone she trusted was looking over her. She heard her neighbour’s door open and turned, greeting Sheryl cheerfully before heading unlocking her apartment door and letting herself in. The security system beeped, and Emily put in her code, silencing the machine. She set her umbrella next to the coat stand before taking her coat off wearily, pressing the answering machine.

“ _Hey, just checking in. Like I promised. You, uh, you didn’t answer your cell…15 minutes ago. So, I’m trying here and if you don’t call me back, I will show up with a battering ram. Or dinner, I’ll decide on the way.”_ Emily sighed. That was the disadvantage of having to keep all these secrets. She practically lived with these profilers. It wouldn’t be easy keeping this from them, especially when it had taken Piper less than a day to pick up on her anxiety. She let the phone ring Piper’s cell as she walked to her room, stripping herself of the buckled coat before bending down in front of her safe. Punching in her code, she grabbed the yellow envelope before taking it to her living room with the cell and Garcia’s hyper, probably drunk, voice filtered through.

“ _No, no, you’re cheating!”_

 _“How am I cheating?”_ Spencer’s voice leaked through, a higher octave than usual, meaning he probably was cheating _. “You can’t cheat with a pair of dice.”_

 _“Hey,”_ Piper’s laughing voice came through.

 _“_ So, Penelope’s drunk.”

 _“Yeaah, she’s not gonna be much fun tomorrow morning. How’s your dahlia looking?”_ Emily bit her lip. She trusted Piper not to say anything to the others and maybe a few hours ago, having a safety net wouldn’t be such a bad idea. But with Ian on the loose, she couldn’t risk it.

“You know, it was all for nothing,” Emily dismissed. “I thought it had turned black but it’s just purple. What about your gladiola?” She heard Piper smirk on the other line, something she thought was impossible, but then she’d met Derek.

_“I’ve got a sunflower accusing a magnolia of cheating with dice.”_

“Is he?”

_“I’m sworn to secrecy, sorry. Listen, Pen said we have a case coming in tomorrow morning. I was thinking we should have a girls night after.”_

“Sounds great. Listen, I gotta feed Sergio so…”

“ _No, go ahead. I have to rescue my boyfriend from Penelope’s chokehold.”_ The line clicked and Emily could feel the palpable loneliness in her apartment. Sighing, Emily took a seat at her dinner table, laying out the contents of the envelope, pushing the flash drive and multiple passports to the side, focusing on her case documents. She chewed on her lip lined with the taste of her dinner with Sean as she glanced at the four pictures no bigger than a passport photo. Sean looked the same as he had all those years ago in 2004, back when he had recruited her for the undercover team. Clyde, Tsia and Jeremy hadn’t been in contact with her ever since she left, transferring to the FBI and into the Behavioural Analysis Unit. But they were in danger too. She wasn’t the only one who had left. Sean wanted to start a family. Tsia fell in love. As did Jeremy. And Clyde was always aiming for the stars. But the return of an old enemy united them again as she stared into the face of a man whom she’d betrayed. But her thoughts were shattered by the furry black cat that jumped onto her lap. She almost flinched until she recognised him, her hands finding familiarity in his matted fur.

“Serge! You scared me! Where you been?” She cooed, petting him. “Why are you wet? Were you out running around in the rain?” A sudden realisation fell on her like Sergio jumped and fell to the floor on his feet. Emily rose from her seat on the otherwise empty dining table, moving for her drawer to pull out her gun. She fit in her ammunition as she murmured in the silent apartment, her cat prowling about the room. “I sure did miss you, Sergio,” Emily purred, cocking the gun before silently turning a corner into her kitchen, gun raised. “You're just the handsomest kitten I've ever seen.” She walked past the borderline dying plant and crystal ball as she prowled through the kitchen and into her bedroom. “I sure miss you when I'm gone,” Emily murmured, walking over to the translucent drapes hanging outside her windows. “Is this how you got out, buddy?” Emily asked, pointing her Glock at nothing but darkness before slamming the window shut. She tucked the pistol into the back hem of her belted slacks, pacing around the bed to the answering machine, dialling her cat-sitting friend’s number. “Hey, Brianna, it’s Emily… Yeah, I just got back now…It was good. Thanks. Um, did you leave the fire escape window open for Sergio to get out?” Emily sighed in relief at Brianna’s yes. “Okay. No, I just—it was open and I was wondering how it got that way. It's fine…No. No, there's no water damage… Um, it's fine. Thank you so much for taking care of him while I was gone. Uh, you want to have brunch this weekend? Okay, cool. I'll give you a call. Bye.”

Sighing, Emily hung up, tossing the phone to the ivory-coloured bed. She smiled at a familiar yowl and leant down to pick him up, cradling him lovingly. Sergio tossed his head in Emily’s embrace as she kissed him and cuddled until the cat jumped away. Emily smirked until her landline rang. Her smile faded at the unknown caller, sending him to voicemail. She waited expectantly for a voice on the machine, but silence rang out until the inevitable hang up. Fear washed over the agent and she left the receiver on the machine. She grabbed four black nail polish bottles, leaving each on either side of the lock on her windows before making her way to the hallway in front of her front door. She moved her pot of purple dahlias onto the floor next to the shoe rack before pushing the table it sat on up against the door. She settled a dark blue vase with an intricately painted vine on the very edge, as though it would teeter off at the slightest push. With that done, she moved a chair from the dining room to the other end of the hallway, with a perfect view of the door, a few feet away, and settling down, she pulled the gun from her waist, exhaled and turned the light off.

* * *

Emily woke to the sound of knocking on her front door, followed by the consecutive ring of her cell. Another rap sounded on the door and Emily rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Quickly moving the table from the front door, Emily glanced through the peephole and opened the door. “You aren’t ready yet,” Piper declared, blinking with a cup of coffee and a paper bag in her hand, her helmet tucked underneath. “H—Have you slept?” Piper leaned to the left. “And what are my dahlias doing on the floor?”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been having nightmares.” Immediately, Piper understood.

“You need this more than I do then.” She thrust the two café goods towards Emily. “Wash your face and change. You can eat on the way.” Piper closed the door with her foot as Emily rushed away. She moved to set the things on Emily’s dining table and Sergio yowled at her feet. Piper smiled, bending to pick him up and coo at him. “Aren’t you handsome today?” Piper warmly brushed her hand on his fur, her gaze falling on the open documents on the table. A series of photographs lay on the table and just as Piper was about to take a closer look, Emily arrived, with a change of clothes. A beige turtleneck hugged her figure under a coat and her purse.

“Oh, aren’t you beautiful?” Emily kissed him and he jumped from Piper’s arms to the floor.

“Is that an old case of ours?” Piper asked curiously as Emily grabbed her things.

“Just a cold case,” Emily brushed off, placing all the things into the envelope and placing it in the nearest drawer, out of sight. “So, what baked good did you get me?”

“It’s a Danish,” Piper said forlornly. “A sacrifice well worth making for our jobs. Now, come on.” Piper grumbled the whole way down to her bike, cursing Garcia for guilting them into this carpool system. It hadn’t worked, obviously, and Penelope had resorted to blackmail, threatening the group with old pictures and videos of them. She’d already revealed Emily’s goth look from the 80s. Piper was terrified she’d find her old band.

Derek had caught on to Piper and Emily’s tardiness, asking Spencer who only claimed Piper had left on time to pick Emily up and they were probably caught in traffic on the I-95. Penelope rose from her seat, ready to call them for an ETA, only to see said profilers walk through the front door. “Someone have a long night?” Derek snickered and Emily, in her exhaustion, would have retorted if not for Piper.

“We were stuck in traffic. Some drunk asshole tried to turn the wrong way and—”

“Garcia,” Hotch interrupted, letting Emily and Piper take their usual seats.

“Oh. Spin the wheel and it is sunny Los Angeles, people,” Penelope said, somehow still cheerful.

“Two times in one year, huh?” Derek asked, not appreciating it any more than he had last time.

“Remind me again why it's called the City of Angels,” Dave scoffed.

“It was originally called the Town of our Lady the Queen of the Angels,” Spencer supplied.

“Yeah, try saying that 5 times fast,” Piper murmured, grabbing her file.

“Yeah, well, this is a weird one,” Penelope retorted.

“As opposed to?” Derek added playfully and Rossi hid his smirk.

“Ah, withhold your judgement, mon amie.” The team offered their attention to the three young, cheerful women on the screens before turning to their grim remnants. All three women were from different areas of LA, all ranging between the ages of the late 20s to the late 30s. The victims were held for 24 hours before dumped in different parts of the city. But despite Emily’s exhaustion, she was the first to realise all three women looked like floaters. And despite seeming as though they had been drowned, they weren’t taken or found near any bodies of water, which meant they had been drowned and then dumped. To make things ‘weirder’, none of them were drowned in water. In fact, they’d all been found with huge amounts of methanol in their lungs. Finally, to top off the tower of abnormalities, all three victims had been found with a perfect square cut out of their right foot. As usual, Hotch paired them off; Emily with Derek gathering victimology, Spencer with Piper looking into chemical tracing and geological profiling while Dave and Aaron examined bodies with the local detective.

* * *

“Is everything okay with you and Emily?” Spencer asked as Garcia hung up on him in the precinct. Piper turned from the map, 5 out of 8 flags on the board.

“Yeah, why?” Spencer shrugged from his cross-legged perch on the table.

“You’ve been kinda off since the last case.” Piper scrunched her lips as she moved over to Spencer.

“Does your head still feel like one of those wind-up monkeys with cymbals?” Spencer smiled broadly.

“No.”

“Then I’m good,” Piper said, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before turning to the geo-profile.

“You know technically, I should be doing that.”

“Technically, you’re the expert on methanol so you should be focusing on tracing that. Besides,” Piper said, turning to face him. “There’s something almost therapeutic about this.” Spencer snorted.

“Only you would say something like that.” Piper snickered, pushing in the last of her pins before taking a seat.

“Okay, hit me with everything you know about methanol.” Spencer wrinkled his forehead.

“Really? I thought you hated everything to do with science.”

“Last I checked, psychology is a science. Besides, if you were my chem teacher in high school, I definitely would’ve paid attention. Let’s go.” Piper crossed her arms as Spencer relayed everything he knew about the chemical that had drowned these women.

“Methanol is compositionally speaking the simplest of the alcohols. It's actually ubiquitous in the environment. There are small traces of its vapour in the atmosphere, but atmospheric methanol is easily oxidized by sunlight.”

“So, if methanol is found everywhere, why aren’t we all dead?” Piper asked.

“Because sunlight catalyses methanol particles to combine with oxygen. Ingesting 10 millilitres of pure methanol will cause permanent blindness, and as little as 30 is potentially fatal.”

“The victims were found with 150 millilitres in their lungs, more or less,” Piper added helpfully.

“You know, if they were immersed in it, they would have died even without ingesting or inhaling it,” Spencer said, starting to make a cup of tea. “When absorbed through the skin, it depresses the central nervous system to an unsustainable degree.”

“It’s a CNS depressant?” Piper’s voice had turned serious, as though she had just realised the implications of this unsub. Spencer looked up at the ceiling, mulling over the comparison before agreeing.

“Yeah, how do you know that?”

“I wrote an op-ed on it a long time ago, that doesn’t matter. CNS depressants are like opioids. How would this guy know methanol worked the same way?”

“Yeah, except using methanol that way is basically overdosing,” Spencer said gingerly, as though treading around an open wound. “Besides, methanol has too many applications to track. A solvent, an antifreeze. In World War II the Germans used it for rocket fuel. It's used in wine-making. Its most commonplace use, however, is in the creation of other chemicals. Methanol can become plastic, plywood, paint, explosives, permanent-press textiles. It's essentially the chemical used to separate other chemicals from each other.” Piper had gone quiet and Spencer thought he’d finally broken her. He would’ve called her name, but she’d lunged for the desk, going through the pictures until she found each right foot of the victim.

“He keeps them for 24 hours. He drowns them in methanol. A chemical used to separate chemicals from each other,” she thought aloud. “Then takes a perfect square from each foot, always the right one.”

“Could be a trophy?”

“I don’t think it’s about a trophy. You said methanol can be absorbed through the skin?” Spencer nodded, unsure of where she was taking this. “Okay, hear me out. How do you drown someone without touching them?” Spencer blinked, mulling over the question. “No chains, no bruising.”

“A large airtight container, one you can place the victim in, close and then fill up slowly.”

“This guy is large-scale, all for what, a patch of skin the size of a Rubix cube?” Piper scoffed, running a hand through her hair. As the others returned from their respective tasks, Spencer filled them in on the fact that methanol can be easily purchased from any chemical supply house in Southern California in any quantity. Piper added that the unsub was attacking a huge geographical area, almost zigzagging across the city, meaning he was mobile. Emily provided that Linda Dean usually took the train home, but that the subway stops at 1 am. That day, Linda had clocked out at 5 past 1. Aaron added the final piece to the puzzle, that all of the victims had breathed an aerosolised chloroform which prompted Spencer to get Penelope on the line to track it. Rossi and Bishop realised they were looking for two things that fit that criteria. A police car or a taxi.

Morgan and Prentiss were tracking cab companies. Bishop was going through large quantity purchases of chloroform with Reid until he looked up curiously. “Everything okay?” she hummed, looking up at him.

“When I was at school—”

“You mean working on your PhD?” Piper asked, smiling. It was hard not to notice how Spencer acted slightly abashed about his multiple degrees, but Piper was always proud of his accomplishments.

“Yeah,” he blushed slightly. “We used to use methanol to separate chemicals from each other. Whatever we did, we'd clip a sample of the source material to label and keep next to the output.” Piper dropped her jaw…and her papers.

“That’s it!” Piper squealed before rummaging through the photos, revealing the feet. “I can’t believe I thought it was a fetish,” she snorted, and Emily looked up, confused.

“Please, geniuses, explain it to us mere mortals.” Piper beamed as Spencer explained his theory.

“Square samples 2 inches by 2 inches,” Spencer said brilliantly. “I think this guy's a scientist and he's experimenting.” The others started delivering the profile while Spencer started narrowing down purchases by combinations. Their unsub had bought a combination of methanol, chloroform, and laboratory equipment. By the end of the profile, they had another body on their hands and a possible witness. While Bishop and Reid waited for Garcia’s call, Hotch and Rossi left to see the disposal site and Morgan left to interview the witness with Prentiss.

The woman who had called about the gypsy cab that refused to take her in was more than aloof, she was practically indifferent to what had happened, more pissed off that she’d been kicked out of a cab than the fact that she might have been murdered if she hadn’t. Despite her moral integrity, Emily almost wished she _had_ been taken before dismissing the thought as cruel. Eventually, the witness walked away to the other officer to put down her statement and Emily’s gaze was caught on a taxi right behind Derek. Sidling past him, she knocked on the window, asking the driver to let them borrow the cab for a few minutes, just to have a conversation. Slightly weirded out, the driver agreed, opening the door for Emily to sit in the back while Derek took the front seat.

“So why a cab? He could control the woman better if he had a van or something,” Derek asked.

“Yeah, but a woman probably wouldn't get into a van voluntarily. A cab enables him to blend in when he's on the hunt.”

“He doesn't choose his victims until they get inside.”

“Right. So, what is it about these passengers?”

“Well, I doubt it's anything visual,” Derek noted, glancing at the mirror in front of him. “He'd get a better look at his victims from the street as opposed to the back of his cab.”

“Partition,” Emily murmured, sliding the cab partition closed then open. “They aren't touching each other. Probably isn't based on that.”

“Hearing? Something they say?” He saw Emily’s gaze fall outside the cab window distractedly. “Prentiss. What's going on with you?”

“With me?” She already had Bishop on her six and that was before Emily knew Ian Doyle was on the loose. She hadn’t handled it right and Morgan was easily the most experienced profiler out of the four of them.

“I've been watching you for the last couple of days, and something is obviously bothering you.”

“Derek, because I like you, I'm going to ask you not to do this,” Emily asked. “Please.” Derek’s gaze was still fixed on her, even as she sniffed, leaving her gagging. “Ugh, it stinks back here.” Derek turned around to face her and the same thought struck them both. The duo exited the cab, dialling their favourite boy wonder.

“ _Hey_ ,” Spencer’s voice filtered through. _“You’ve got me and Bishop.”_

“Could it be the smell?” Emily asked, breathing in the fresher LA air.

 _“Here on earth, we say hello,”_ Piper scoffed.

“Hi. Could smell be what’s attracting the unsub?” She heard silence on the line and then Spencer murmuring two words.

_“Distillation extraction.”_

“I hope you know what you just said because you lost me.”

_“Methanol can be used to create scents or aromas. If you soak something in it for hours, it draws out the essential oils.”_

_“Oh my god, hyperosmia,”_ Piper said, followed by a small ‘ow’ from Spencer.

_“Just ask for the cell next time.”_

_“Em, People with hyperosmia can experience strong discomfort and even illness from certain smells. Exposure to chemical odours like synthetic fragrances, perfumes, and cleaning products can trigger mild to severe discomfort. Even the scent of certain shampoos can be too much. Usually, chewing gum can help while you’re on the go but maybe he’s trying to preserve the natural scent of these women.”_

“Alright, we’re coming back. Bye.” Emily slipped the cell into her pocket, ignoring Derek’s worried gaze.

* * *

It was starting to get dark and Penelope had finally gotten the address of their unsub. Piper was the first to silently approach the house. Considering the last few unsubs all kidnapping her, she preferred to stay at a distance under the guise of being ready to give chase if required. Derek and Emily arrived next with Spencer and finally, Hotch and Rossi approached. She watched Emily, Derek and Spencer start to take the back of the house while Dave and Aaron broached the door. Dave noticed the camera attached into a crevice and Derek yelled into his mic that the unsub was on the run.

Derek’s yell woke Piper up from her stillness as she rounded the house to give chase to the cab, powering down an alley after the cab before skidding around a turn, Morgan hot on her tail. Within minutes, the cab had turned onto a bridge, one motorcycle, two SUVs and three police cars trailing behind with sirens. He wasn’t going to stop, Piper realised and with one hand on the bike, reached for her knife. She hadn’t done this trick since she was 16 and even then, she hadn’t been going at this speed. With a strong grip on the blade, she rushed forward, kicking the speed up a notch so she could practically touch the cab before leaning right, as though she were about to make a tight turn, only to slash the back tire, and then the front before speeding ahead as the cab squealed. She turned, slowing to a stop to unholster her gun, shooting once at the front tire. The cab skidded to crash into the end of the bridge so that the driver side window was facing Piper and the man inside turned away from his airbag to stare into the barrel of her gun as she took off her helmet. “What’s up, Doc?” she smirked. Derek squealed to a stop behind them relieving her of her duty as the detective handcuffed the man, taking him into the car.

“That was stupid.”

“But it worked,” Piper retorted.

“Please tell me you haven’t done that before,” Derek pleaded with her.

“I dunno,” Piper said, folding her mouth into a line. “Is it more comforting to know that I have done this trick before which meant I knew it would work or—”

“I surrender.” Piper laughed as Derek left for his car. Pulling her helmet back on, Piper steered the bike around the cab before following the cars to the precinct.

* * *

The team separated after the jet hit the tarmac, Emily heading straight home to her cat. She made her way up the stairs to her apartment, only to see a flowery package leaning against the dark red door. Worried, Emily shouldered her go-bag, leaning down to pick it up before glancing around. Emily tucked the box under her other arm before unlocking the door and turning the alarm off and the lights on. She set the package on the table, unholstering her gun to clear the apartment again as her phone rang. Surprisingly, it wasn’t Morgan or Piper. “Hey, Reid.”

_“Emily, you are not going to believe this.”_

“No?” Emily asked, stepping through the apartment.

_“They're showing Solaris tonight, the original, in the theatres. You want to go?”_

“Did Morgan put you up to this?” Emily asked curiously, walking into her dining room.

_“What?”_

“Did Morgan tell you to call me?”

_“No, Morgan would have no idea what Solaris is.”_

“So, uh, you just called me out of the blue.”

_“Well, I mean, the original one's in Russian, so, really, you and I are the only ones that can really enjoy it.”_

“Isn't Solaris like 4 hours long?” Emily asked, turning the corner into the kitchen.

_“It's 5. The best sci-fi meditation film of all time. But for some reason, they never really show it in the theatres. You want to go with me?”_

“Sorry, handsome. I'm gonna have to pass,” Emily said, holstering her gun after clearing the apartment and returning to the dining room. “I'm just gonna hang out with Sergio tonight.”

_“Oh, shoot. I didn't realize that...”_

“Relax, Reid. Sergio is my new cat,” Emily said, smiling as she opened the drawer to withdraw the yellow envelope. “Why don’t you take Piper?”

_“Derek wanted her to show him how to make that lean on his bike.”_

“Sounds like he doesn’t know what he’s getting into.”

_“Yeah, I don’t think he realises Piper’s been riding motorcycles for a decade.”_

“Thank you.”

 _“For what?”_ Spencer asked.

“Being you.”

 _“Aw, thanks. I don’t know how to be anyone else,”_ he said genuinely, and Emily couldn’t stop the smile spreading to her face.

“Yeah, that’s what I love about you. Bye,” she said, hanging up before slipping the cell into her pocket and placing her documents on the table. She opened the floral box, pulling the ribbon off and unfolding the wrapping paper inside to reveal a lilac freesia. Picking it up, she took a sniff, dissolving her mind into memory.

Her hair wasn’t as dark then. She’d had it dyed brown and it was styled wavier. Her dress style had changed to cream and beige tones. Softer than what she wore now, and she was kneeling in the slightly damp grass, picking out flowers for the gardener to take inside. Her French was melodic, like a hummingbird in the sunny countryside manor. Under the temperate blue sky, dark SUVs pulled up to the manor and four men with guns escorted her inside to a car. Through the car door, she caught a glimpse of Ian standing on the manor’s rooftop porch watching her protest in French, then Italian.

Sergio’s yowl woke her from the memory of Ian’s arrest and Emily placed her duffel on the table, unzipping it to place the envelope inside. She had about 24 hours before she would have to explain to Piper why her alarm system had been turned off. She threw the flower in the wastepaper basket. Maybe she could say she was having some renovations done. “Serge!” she called out and the cat padded over to her, leaping into Emily’s arms. Emily shouldered the duffel bag and grabbed her keys, letting the door close behind her.


	3. Today I Do

Emily was early to work. There was no conceivable strategy to hide from a team of profilers. Being perfect at her job might stave off Morgan, but no way would it trick Piper. She made her way up the catwalk and into the conference room, dialling an international number. “Tsia, it’s Emily. Where are you?”

_“Bois du Boulogne.”_

“Well, that's a significant change of address,” Emily remarked, trying to remain nonchalant as she walked to her seat.

_“That's not the only change. I got engaged.”_

“Wow. So, you and Jeremy are gonna... That's great. That's great,” Emily said, taking her seat, trying to be cheerful for her old friend, but coming off as nervous.

_“Emily, what's wrong?”_

“Have you heard from Sean?”

_“Yes, he's been calling me for days.”_

“But you haven't talked to him?”

_“I don't work for him anymore. I'm out.”_

“So's Doyle,” Emily said, still the picture of neutrality. “Sean thinks we're in danger. But I was the only one who had any personal connection to him.”

“As far as Doyle is concerned, Lauren Reynolds died in a car accident,” Tsia emphasised over the phone. “Jeremy and I made sure of that. Okay?” Emily nodded, her attention slipping from the window to the phone call. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Lauren Reynolds is dead,” she said too soon with Reid and Bishop walking in together. As Piper yawned, Spencer settled into his seat, no doubt curious.

“Sweety trust me. You died and we're all good.”

“Okay. Just be careful. And give Jeremy my love. Bye.” She hung up the call, ignoring Piper’s sleepy, concerned gaze.

“Who’s Lauren Reynolds?” Spencer asked, his hair a floppy mess like always.

“She was a friend of mine.”

“How’d she die?”

“Car accident.”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer offered, and Piper squeezed Emily’s shoulder softly. Emily offered them both a small smile as Rossi entered, wishing them a good morning as Ashley, Derek and Aaron entered, trailing after him like a line of ducklings and Penelope emerged from the other side of the room. A young woman had been missing for 24 hours, like another one 4 months ago in Syracuse. The other woman, Gail, had washed up in Onondaga Lake 3 days after her abduction. She’d been held captive, her hands and feet smashed, and then she was stabbed to death, which meant that Molly, the next victim, had 36 hours left for them to find her. It was easy for Emily to put Doyle from her mind as they flew to New York. As far reaching as Doyle was, he couldn’t hack the FBI or trace her unit. At least, she hoped so anyway.

Piper couldn’t help feeling slightly uncomfortable with Ashley sitting in her usual seat beside Spencer and in front of Emily. Derek joined them with his cup of coffee, slipping his phone into his pocket as he updated them that Garcia still hadn’t found any overlap between the two victims.

“For two girls that didn't know each other, they had a lot in common,” Ashley pointed out.

“What's the first thing that jumps out at you?” Emily prompted her.

“Their body types are both small, but it's not just physical. They both shy away from the camera and clearly don't enjoy being photographed.”

“Both easily overpowered and controlled,” Aaron added.

“Well, at 25 they'd be much older than most undergrads at SU,” Derek said, and Spencer took it as a cue.

“You know, their college transcripts are littered with incompletes and missed semesters,” he added.

“I’m meeting the guidance counsellor when we land,” Piper announced. “Might give us some insight into their lives.” Hotch nodded.

“Both from blue-collar backgrounds with no scholarship,” Rossi continued. “Must be hard to keep up while working a full-time job.”

“So, going to a private school could have been worth it for appearances' sake,” Emily offered.

“If he met them on campus, he might be a student,” Ashley suggested.

“Not necessarily,” Piper countered. “Male kidnappers who are driven by a sexual motive tend to pick women who are either younger or the same age as them.”

“He may not be a student,” Hotch agreed. “He might be an employee. Janitorial staff, security.”

“Uses a similar background to bond with the victims?” Spencer asked before nodding to himself.

“They both packed bags to go away with him for the weekend,” Rossi pointed out. “That trip's romantic.”

“Yeah, he's not just getting to know them, he's dating them,” Derek agreed.

“Prentiss, go to Molly's apartment. If she knew the abductor, there might be evidence there,” Aaron ordered. “Reid and Morgan, go to the dump site.”

“But Gail's body was found almost 4 months ago,” Ashley countered. “Won't all the evidence be gone by now?”

“You can actually find out a lot about an unsub by where they choose to leave their victims,” Spencer said, politely correcting her and Ashley nodded as the speakerphone rang. Emily accepted the call, letting Garcia speak with them.

“Syracuse Police Chief Barrows brought a suspect in for questioning 5 minutes ago. His name is Lyle Donaldson.”

“Molly's ex-boyfriend,” Piper recalled.

“Yeah, well, Donaldson's got a boat. Fishes twice a month in the same area where Gail Langston was found. He was also a student in a class with her at S.U. And he's got an anger problem. 3 arrests for assault. 2 of them were for beating up Molly Grandin.”

“It's gotta be him, right?” Ashley asked.

“It's unusual for serial killers to go after someone so easily linked to them, but we'll see if he fits the profile,” Hotch said. “Rossi, we’ll interview Donaldson while Bishop meets the counsellor.”

But by the end of the day, they hadn’t been able to charge Lyle with anything, so he walked out with the lawyer. Reid and Morgan had concluded that Gail was given a classic water burial, pointing them to a female unsub which Emily agreed with, seeing evidence from Molly’s spare bedroom which had been occupied by a roommate, one that no-one knew about. Piper returned from her meeting with Gail’s guidance counsellor who revealed that Gail was suffering from depression, which reminded Emily of a series of sticky notes she’d found plastered all over Molly’s apartment with positive affirmations. Except Gail had stopped going to meetings in the month before she was abducted. She was happier, more confident, attending classes, working hard in school.

“Today I do, tomorrow I will?” Emily asked but Piper just scoffed, leaning on her elbows.

“That phrase is found in pretty much every self-help book ever and all of them say the same 3-part plan,” Piper said wearily.

“Let me guess, phase one is visualizing goals,” Spencer said, slightly cynically. “Phase 2— taking real steps to achieve said goal.”

“Phase 3 – maintain the tenets independently,” Piper finished.

“So, what, our unsub is a self-help guru?” Derek proposed and Piper shrugged.

“We’ve dealt with weirder. Here’s the thing though, positive affirmations tend to work best around simpler goals, like eating healthier or exercising more. It’s practically impossible to break through the cycle of depression by repeating mantras.”

“Maybe the counsellor helped,” Ashley said but Piper shook her head.

“Guidance counsellors aren’t licenced therapists and besides, Gail stopped going to meetings before things got better.”

“That’s probably when the unsub moved in with them,” Aaron added. “She could offer support and encouragement day and night. She'd be around to watch Gail’s study habits, coax her out of depressive habits.”

“At first her methods worked,” Rossi said. “She gets to be the hero, the saviour.”

“She's a pure narcissist,” Emily continued. “Helping her victims is only about gaining their appreciation and dependence.”

“And the more her victims gain confidence, the less they need a full-time cheerleader,” Derek agreed.

“And that's when her motivational plan goes completely off the rails,” Piper said, relaxing into her chair.

“Phase 3 is normally about maintaining the tenets of the program independently. But her program doesn't end. She holds them captive, destroys them physically.”

“She's the motivational speaker from hell,” Derek said darkly. Tomorrow morning, they would deliver the profile. Rossi would meet with Gail’s parents to ask about the woman while Seaver and Prentiss would revisit Molly’s apartment. Meanwhile, Reid and Bishop would start pulling apart Gail’s life to see where she might have met the unsub. By mid-morning, Seaver and Prentiss had found evidence for an eating disorder in Molly’s room with a diet journal and several prescription bottles for anorexia/bulimia and by noon, Piper was wincing at Dave in the other room, yelling at Molly’s father for hiding things until he revealed that Molly went to Syracuse General after she had collapsed from malnutrition. Immediately, Piper and Spencer realised the connection between their victims. Gail had been taken to the same hospital after a suicide attempt and by the evening, Garcia had cracked the security cameras of the hospital’s pharmacy. Piper looked up, as Emily slipped out to answer her cell.

“Tsia?”

 _“He's gone,”_ her voice came through, her French accent reduced.

“Who? What's going on?”

_“Jeremy's dead.”_

“What?”

_“I got home from work and he was just lying there. He'd been in the shower. I don't know. I couldn't see anything. They think it was a clot.”_

“He's not even 40,” Emily said, glancing around her. “How could—”

_“He didn't have a pulse, so I called the ambulance. They tried to revive him, but...”_

“Did somebody break in?”

_“Uh--I don't think so. Look—look, he was out for his run. He's training for a marathon.”_

“Was it his usual path?”

_“Yes. But he came back early. He... He called me; said he wasn't feeling well.”_

“Did he fall down on the path? Did anyone run into him?”

_“Oh, God.”_

“How long have we been talking?” Emily glanced at the call time before raising it back to her ear. “You've got to get out of there. Get a flight. Leave France, get back to America. Cash transactions only from here on out. Am I clear?”

_“It's him, isn't it? It's Doyle.”_

“Toss that cell phone and get home safely,” Emily said, ending the call and slipping the phone into her pocket, glancing through the window at Piper’s concerned expression. She waved her over and Emily ducked back into their work room.

 _“Now, Molly and Gail had different doctors, but both went to Syracuse General Pharmacy. Assuming they were stalked, you know, 10 to 14 weeks before their disappearance, I went ahead and started with footage from when they went to get refills, which falls right into that time window. Behold— Gail Langston, July 3rd. See that woman a few steps behind her with the large cup of coffee? Check this out.”_ They watched as Penelope sped up the tape to a few more weeks. _“There she is again. The same woman is following her. Creepy.”_

“She's wearing the same scarf as Gail,” Ashley noted with disgust.

“Garcia, did this woman follow a similar pattern when she was stalking Molly?” Emily asked, leaning over Ashley’s chair.

“Emily, you're totally ruining the ending. Here's Molly and the stalker on November 8th.”

“What do you know? She went shopping,” Piper scoffed, pointing to the purses.

“They're carrying identical purses. And then 15 minutes later on their way out.” They watched as Molly was conversing with her stalker.

“So, she stalks them, copies them, and uses it to strike up a conversation,” Reid summed up. “Great.”

“ _Here is a nice clean picture of our stalker person.”_ Ashley moved to print out a picture and update the team with Spencer while Piper settled into the seat next to Emily.

“Don’t ask,” Emily warned her, her voice low.

“Fine,” Piper agreed. “But you do know there’s only so long you can hide this. Even Spencer’s starting to get suspicious.”

“You have a better idea?”

“Apart from not lying. Use Lauren Reynolds.” Emily’s face slackened. “Oh, come on. You don’t think I actually bought the car accident thing, right? Especially after your security system being turned off.”

“Piper stop digging. Please,” Emily begged her. “It won’t end well.” Piper turned to her files.

“I’m aware. Just promise me you’ll tell me if your dahlias get worse.” Emily glanced at her nails.

“I can’t do that.” Piper’s lips parted ever so slightly but the conversation ended as Rossi entered the room, Ashley trailing behind him. Gail and Molly’s families had never met her and Lyle’s lawyer couldn’t reach him. Hotch was putting a BOLO on Lyle’s car and it came back with a hit within the next 15 minutes outside the same parking lot. Spencer put Garcia on speaker as darkness started to settle outside the precinct. The team went through female patients that Dr Weingold had sent them, narrowing it down by locality, foster care system or single parent households, and anyone that grew up near the disposal sites. After about an hour or so, Penelope got them a hit by the name of Jane Gould. Her grandparents had a house near Maple Bay, which is where Gail's body was found. But they died when Jane was in middle school. She pulled up a photo of the woman only to recognise from the surveillance video. Three young profilers piled into the one SUV, Derek taking the wheel with Piper leading the way up front on her bike. “So, Dr Weingold opened Jane’s files and she doesn’t want to release details but turns out, Jane never admitted to self-harm or what triggered it,” Spencer summed up.

“I’m gonna guess the loss of every parental figure that loved her was one,” Emily said.

 _“Yeah, she started acting out after her grandparents died,”_ Rossi updated them from the precinct.

 _“Arrested for vandalism, removed from 2 foster homes for destruction of property. Desperate attempts to get attention,”_ Hotch said.

 _“Except self-harm is never a cry for help,”_ Piper remarked from under her helmet, her earwig connecting her voice to the others.

“ _Cutting is about control, similar to anorexia,”_ Ashley said softly through the monitor. _“It's common in teenage girls who feel like they have no control over their lives. The loss of parental figures at such a young age turns your world upside down. There’s pain, but no outlet. There’s no-one in charge.” Her voice was shaky, deeply personal._

“ _Yeah_ ,” Piper agreed. “ _Jane was always at a higher risk for many negative outcomes, including mental issues shorter schooling, less academic success, lower self-esteem, and more sexual risk behaviours_.”

“So, she compensated with Molly and Gail,” Derek said. “Jane used them to convince herself she's important.”

“More than that, she thinks she's a selfless saviour.”

“Instead of an orphan that no one claimed,” Ashley said, and Piper swerved through the driveway through to the large house while Derek just tore through the grass. Emily and Derek left their car while Piper pulled her helmet off and her gun from its holster. She and Spencer flanked the sides of the house, meeting at the back to start clearing the house while Derek and Emily took the front of the house until she found Lyle’s pale body on the second floor, skewered in the neck with part of the bedpost. As though it was a conveyor system, Emily told Derek who told Spencer who told Piper and she started running from the house to her bike, not bothering with her helmet. The lake was only two minutes from the house and by the time Emily made her way down, the agent was tearing away from the house down to the lake, directions thrown at her from Garcia until she finally made her way to the bridge. Back-up was 15 minutes away and the winding path meant a large SUV would take at least 5 more minutes. Jane stood on the bridge; Molly held limply in her arms. “Jane Gould!” Piper yelled, her gun pulled out as she unhooked her leg from the bike. “Let the woman go and back away!” Sirens echoed behind her. “That’s Syracuse P.D. and my entire team on their way. Just let Molly down, Jane. You don’t have to kill her.”

“Yes, I do. I have to give her to the lake.”

“No!” Piper yelled as Jane let her go. There was no thought process as she heard the splash below. Piper holstered her gun before leaping onto the railing and pulled off her jacket. Derek pulled onto the bridge, just in time for the trio to see Piper take a dive off the bridge and into the water and the trio yelled as they got out of the car. Emily did everything in her power to keep her gaze locked onto Jane even though every impulse in her body wanted to look onto the lake for her. Jane almost ran to the other side, only for Aaron and Rossi to step out of their vehicle as well. Chief Barrows pulled out his set of handcuffs, cuffing Jane before she jumped in too. With Jane in custody, Emily ran to the edge of the bridge, looking over the railing. But she saw nothing but murky water, and she cried out Piper’s name. Sirens resounded through the silence as the water remained still, bubbles forming on the surface until finally, after what seemed like an eon, Piper’s face broke through the surface, tugging Molly through the water. Piper gasped for breath, swimming backwards to land and Emily sprinted with the others down to the water’s edge, ready to take Molly who was hacking out water from her lungs. Piper was heaving breaths and Spencer handed her coat back to her. But she didn’t have time to put it on as Emily had already pressed her into a hug.

“Relax, Em. It’s just water,” Piper scoffed.

“I’m just…I’m glad you’re okay.” Piper nodded exhaustedly.

“You’re forgetting I grew up in the Bay. I’ve been diving off cliffs since I was 12.” Emily snorted. “Best way to escape police detection from a bonfire,” Piper said, smiling, but cold.

“Well, you look like a wet ragdoll,” Derek announced as Spencer helped her up from the water’s edge.

“Yeah, well. I feel like one too, so…”

“Uh-uh, that’s not how this works,” Derek retorted as Emily watched the two bicker all the way to her bike. Spencer stayed with Emily, following her gaze.

“Have you noticed something off with Piper?” Emily narrowed her eyes at Spencer. “I mean, unless she told you something which—I mean, that’s between the two of you, obviously. But I was just—”

“Reid,” she said, silently asking him to get to the point.

“Right, it’s just—she’s been really worried lately. And I shouldn’t be saying this but…have you noticed anything?” Emily was caught under Spencer’s amber spotlights.

“No, have you?”

“It’s probably nothing,” Spencer dismissed. “Just little things.”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Emily assured him. “It’s probably just the case getting under her skin.” Spencer nodded, moving up the slight hill to join the others in the SUV as Molly was loaded into the ambulance.

By the time the jet hit the tarmac, Piper was officially sneezing every 5 minutes. Derek, Dave and Aaron had a bet on for how many times she would sneeze. Clearly, Aaron had won meaning both men had to buy him a drink. Spencer decided to go home immediately but Piper said she had some files to wrap up at work. For once, Piper was alone in the office. The office was silent apart from Piper’s occasional sneeze. She sniffled, pulling the next file from her pile, only to notice a sticky note stuck to the inside. _Conference room. Close the door when you come in._ Grabbing her empty mug from the desk, Piper took the file, suppressing a yawn as she walked over the catwalk and into the conference room which had all the blinds pulled down. She slapped the file down on the table next to the coffee machine, letting the door close behind her. She poured the brown liquid, letting it slosh in her dark FBI mug. “Everything okay?”

“My dahlias are wilting,” the voice said behind her. “I don’t know what to do.” Piper turned nonchalantly to face Emily who was seated, drinking her own cup of coffee. “I think it’s a disease.” Piper nodded slowly.

“Then you have to take care of their roots.”

“I’m trying to protect them,” Emily emphasised. “But it’s starting to spread to two of the roots already.” Piper levelled her gaze at Emily, her eyes welling up slowly.

“Then you need to cut them off.”

“I don’t want to,” Emily whispered, placing a hand on Piper’s.

“If you don’t,” Piper said, terrified of what she would say next. “Everything else will die.” Emily nodded thickly, standing up before she left, leaving Piper in the briefing room wiping away tears.


	4. Coda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: mentions of autism and over stimulation

Emily made her way through the bullpen to the elevators, missing the feeling of Piper’s gaze on her. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her team. But she had to protect them. Ian Doyle was her problem. Not theirs. And there was nothing one profiler could do without the other. She let the elevator doors close, obscuring her view of Piper and Spencer working. To the best of their knowledge, Emily had been a desk agent like Anderson, working her way up from the Midwest. But all her work was just a backstop. She’d spent the better half of her career working with Interpol before transferring to the FBI, an aspect JJ and Hotch had suspected once, a long time ago when Spencer had been kidnapped. Piper had been too consumed by finding him to notice, but she was fairly sure it had hit her at some point. She’d had to deal with the consequences of it too, with near-constant under-estimation by the rest of the team. Except for Bishop. Lying to her hurt the most, especially when Piper had always had her back. Piper had been the friendliest on her first day, the most trusting out of all of them. Emily couldn’t forget how Piper had smiled at her when she’d translated that Arabic letter spontaneously. And somehow, Emily had been the one to coax her out of her apartment eventually after the Simmons incident. But if Ian Doyle knew about their unspoken bond, he would use it against her in the worst way imaginable.

Emily exited the elevator doors, approaching her car in the parking lot, her car key ready to unlock it, only for her to notice the lock already open. She glanced through the windows of her car, seeing nothing but her leather seats. Glancing around the empty lot, Emily kneeled on the floor to glance underneath the car. Her heartbeat was rapid as she stepped back, using her remote to start the engine from the outside. But the car just hummed like it usually did and Emily tentatively stepped inside and pulled out of the parking space and down to a new lunch spot.

* * *

It was sunny in DC, glittering off the large fountain. A middle-aged blonde man rose from his seat, leaving the newspaper folded in his spot before walking away. Emily replaced his seat as the newspaper buzzed. She slipped her hand between the folds, pulling out the mobile phone and raising it to her ear. _“I was beginning to think you weren't coming. After what happened to Jeremy, I was afraid,”_ Tsia’s voice came through the receiver.

“Tsia, I'm sorry you can't be at his funeral. It's today, isn't it?”

_“Well, that's the problem with marrying a member of your own team. One of you is a target, so is the other. I get it.”_

_“Hello, darling,”_ a British voice came through the receiver.

“All right, let's make this quick. I took a late lunch.”

 _“How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not quick about anything,”_ Clyde said, his voice smug.

“I don't know,” Emily said, rolling an eye. “What about that time I blew my cover in Prague? You took out that sentry before I could even draw my weapon. You saved my ass, Clyde.”

_“I'm surprised you remember the little people from your Interpol days now that you're a posh FBI profiler.”_

“What's being done to locate Doyle?”

_“Only every agency in the Northern hemisphere is looking for him.”_

“What are we doing to find him?”

 _“My contact at DCRI tracked one of Doyle's aliases leaving France the day after Jeremy's murder,”_ Tsia supplied. _“He took a commercial flight to Beijing, then doubled back on a train bound for Berlin.”_

 _“But when GSG 9 intercepted it, he was already gone,”_ Clyde confirmed.

“He sent me flowers, so I think it's safe to assume he's coming here.”

 _“Why is he doing this?”_ Tsia asked.

 _“Why do you think?”_ Clyde asked snarkily. _“We put him away.”_ Emily’s personal cell buzzed with a text from Penelope.

911…BAU in 30 minutes

“ _Duty calls,”_ Clyde scoffed humourlessly from his position as he observed Emily’s posture. “ _I know what you’re thinking. Absolutely not. Your team isn’t under oath. They don’t have clearance.”_

“They could help,” Emily retorted, pocketing her phone.

“How?” Tsia asked. “We don’t even know where Doyle is. Involving them at this point would be premature.”

“And reckless,” Clyde added. “Leave it to Tsia and me. You go be with your team.”

“Even in hiding, Doyle can't resist extravagance. Track the money,” Emily told him coldly.

“I will find him, darling,” Clyde said self-assured. “Trust me.”

“I don't trust anyone anymore,” Emily said, getting up to throw the phone in the trashcan beside her, as did Clyde and Tsia, before leaving the way they’d come.

* * *

Piper barely looked up from her file as Emily rushed into the conference room to see the entire team assembled as she murmured something about traffic. Garcia started the briefing, more for Emily and Ashley’s sake. Hotch had already consulted Bishop beforehand, partially the reason why she was so quiet. This case was going to be difficult. “10-year-old Sammy Sparks of Lafayette Parish, Louisiana, showed up at his elementary school this morning covered in blood. When police got to his house, they found that his parents, Charlie and Alison Sparks, were missing.”

“Forensics indicate that at least one of them was injured, and by the looks of it, it was pretty severe,” Derek noted.

“Has there been a ransom demand?” Rossi asked.

“There's been no communication whatsoever,” Aaron clarified.

“Then why call in the BAU?” Emily asked.

“New Orleans is hoping we can interview Sammy,” Hotch said and Piper finally met his gaze. Spencer glanced between them.

“No-one’s interviewed the witness yet?” Piper made to answer but Ashley interrupted.

“I don’t understand. If Sammy was covered with blood, there's a good chance he could identify the unsub,” she said, looking at Aaron.

“Sammy has autism,” Piper clarified softly. “It’s going to be hard to interview him.” She got up as she spoke, and Aaron dismissed them to the jet. Piper gathered her things as the others left, save for Aaron who lingered by the door. She flashed him a smile, moving to sidle past him.

“Bishop,” he called out. “If this is too much for you, we can figure it out.” Piper licked her lips.

“I’ll be fine, Hotch. I haven’t even seen the kid yet.” Aaron nodded, following her out and into the jet.

She was wearing a long beige cardigan, the one she always wore on tough cases. She was sitting cross-legged, going through her old notes from her past consults and cases. Dave was seated next to Hotch, glancing over to her corner every now and then. It was slightly worrying that she needed 17 notebooks for this one case. Then again, he’d never dealt with an autistic witness. Meanwhile, Ashley and Spencer were avidly discussing something in the back near the coffee machine.

“So, is that the one where they fly around in the phone booth?”

“First of all, it's a police box, not a phone booth,” Spencer corrected over his cup of tea. “Second of all, Dr. Who started a quarter of a century before Bill and Ted even went on their bodacious adventure, so, really, they should have just called it Bill and Ted's Excellent Rip-Off. I mean, at least then—"

“I'm really sorry,” Ashley interrupted.

“For what?”

“Asking.” She turned around to take her seat as Spencer stood there, pursing his lips and smacking himself mentally for not figuring out that she didn’t care.

 _“Attention angels!”_ Penelope announced and everyone turned to listen to their tech analyst on the laptop screen except Piper who was still poring through her journals. _“New information to report. The blood at the crime scene matched type to Charlie Sparks, so we can assume that he is the injured party.”_

“Well, shell casings by the door says he was shot,” Derek theorised. “Are we looking at a robbery gone wrong?”

“No robber would break into a family residence before the start of school and not expect to find people home,” Emily amended, glancing at Piper who flipped a page.

“No, I think he came for Charlie and Alison Sparks,” Aaron remarked. “He planned the abduction and then gained entry to the house.”

“But the scene is frenzied, disorganized,” Rossi countered as Ashley glanced over at Piper’s journals. “He didn't think it through.”

“I hate to say it, but could Sammy be our unsub?” Ashley asked and Piper’s head shot up to look at her.

“I’m sorry, what?” Everyone instantly did one of two things. Emily, Derek and Spencer looked right back at their files while Hotch, Rossi and Seaver looked at her.

“I didn’t mean—” Piper didn’t bother interrupting her. She wanted Ashley to finish. “It was just…I thought that…” Ashley looked around for help, but no-one bothered. “Well, I don’t know a lot about autism but…I just thought maybe Sammy found the gun and…” She trailed off. “It was a stupid question, I’m sorry.” Piper’s face was unreadable, and Rossi took it as a cue to move forward.

“What’s the number one motive for kidnappings?” Dave asked.

“Financial gain,” Ashley amended, feeling more than uncomfortable in her seat in front of Piper.

“Yeah, well, if that's the case, they are barking up the wrong money tree,” Penelope provided as Piper returned to her journals. “The family runs a music store that's been Sparks owned since the 1940s, but business is down and a loan against the house is the only thing keeping that store afloat.”

“The unsub should have done his research.”

“Well, he may have,” Emily said. “This area was devastated by the oil spill. A little bit of money would go a long way here.” Prentiss and Seaver would take the music store while Hotch and Morgan took the crime scene. Reid and Rossi would meet Sammy’s elementary teacher while Bishop started building rapport with Sammy.

* * *

Piper took a seat next to Sammy, watching him draw multiple ‘L’ shapes. “Hi, Sammy. I’m Piper.” She elicited no response. “I’m here to find your mom and dad,” she said softly but he just kept drawing. “Did L take your parents?” But Sammy kept drawing. “That’s a no,” Piper sighed. Her cell buzzed in her pocket and she stepped away from the boy to answer Emily’s call. “Bishop.”

_“We’re getting the security tapes from the store to Garcia. He must have come here after school every day.”_

“Routines are good for autistic children as are familiar locations,” Piper said into the phone. “Reid’s asking Sammy’s teacher about it.”

_“How’s he doing?”_

“He’s drawing. I’m waiting for more info before I go any further. Hey, listen, is there a piano there?”

_“It’s a music store, Pipes.”_

“I’m aware, Prentiss. See if there’s a music sheet there. Something Sammy might play regularly.”

_“Uh, yeah. There’s a piece here. I’ll bring it in._

“Thanks.” Before Emily could say another word, Piper hung up before dialling Penelope.

_“Office of supreme genius. Speak, my favourite mortal.”_

“Hi, darling. I need a next of kin for Sammy and see if anyone of significance has a first name or surname starting with L.”

_“Working on a next of kin and setting up a search now. Hey, what happens if we don’t find the Sparks?”_

“Let’s hope it doesn’t get there, okay?” Piper hung up before returning to her seat next to Sammy, watching him draw, feeling her already sunken heart sink even further.

* * *

Within the next few hours, the rest of the team had gathered in the room next to Sammy’s. Piper was still inside, trying to connect with the boy. Thus far, she’d succeeded in getting him to make eye contact, but Sammy was far too overwhelmed to just tell them what happened. Aaron had given her one of his favourite toys and the others watched them play with it in the room. Spencer pointed out that if Sammy was kept on a strict routine, so were his parents, making them easier targets in the process. Penelope didn’t make the job any easier, telling them that it would be a lot easier to send them a list of people who didn’t need it, at least until she got an alert on her computer that someone at the Bayside Branch withdrew $10,000 from their joint savings account. Emily and Ashley left for the branch and Spencer turned to the window, glancing at Piper who was handing him different stim toys while Derek grabbed a cup of coffee. They all hoped that she could calm him down, but evidently, she was running out of hope. She left Sammy playing with his wooden train, coming out to the rest of the group.

“I’d like to see Sammy’s house,” she announced softly to Hotch, not making eye contact with the rest of the group.

“Take Reid with you,” Hotch told her and she offered them a tight-lipped smile as Rossi tossed Spencer the keys. Dave watched the two of them leave before settling into a seat.

“You think she can get this kid to talk?” Aaron didn’t look up from the crime scene photos.

“No, but if she can help him feel comfortable, we might get somewhere.”

“She was a little hard on Ashley back there,” Rossi pointed out, suggesting Piper was emotionally compromised.

“I don’t think so,” Hotch countered. “Seaver made a suggestion, Bishop asked her to clarify. Dave, she’s the only one who might stand a chance of getting through to Sammy.”

* * *

Emily stepped out of the bank into the warm afternoon light when her cell buzzed. Stepping away from Ashley, she answered the unknown caller. “ _We found him_.”

“Where?”

 _“He's headed for DC,”_ Clyde answered. “ _We'll meet you there._ ”

“Are we sure it's him?”

_“It's Doyle, all right. I'm looking at him right now. He chartered a private jet.”_

“How did he get past security checks?”

_“He used an alias— Chuck Murray.”_

“Wasn't that—”

_“Yeah. The name of his Irish wolfhound.”_

“He's baiting us. He wants us to know he's here.”

_“Message received. Let that bastard come to us.”_

* * *

Piper stepped out of the kitchen, joining Spencer upstairs. “Looks like he loves PB & J’s,” she said gently before noticing Spencer’s confused look. “Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” she clarified, smiling as she looked around the room.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked her, his tone warm and sincere as Piper went through Sammy’s drawings. She looked over her shoulder at him.

“I’m fine,” she shrugged, and Spencer wished it were true.

“You snapped at Ashley.”

“She accused Sammy of murder,” Piper countered, moving over to Sammy’s bed to grab a folded blanket.

“She doesn’t know any better,” Spencer retorted. Piper swiped her tongue over her lips.

“Fine. My first month as a state psychiatrist, there was this family who was filing for divorce about 3 years after they had a child. Obviously, I was called in to interview all three of them.” Spencer watched her tuck the blanket in her arms as she spoke. “Neither parent wanted the kid because they found out he was autistic. He was 2 years old,” she said, her eyes welling up slightly.

“What did you do?”

“I told the court they were both unfit parents and the child went into state custody,” she said, her voice breaking softly. “I didn’t know what else to do.” Spencer pulled at her arm, wrapping her into his arms, one hand tucking her in, the other caressing her hair.

“You did everything you could.”

“That can’t happen to Sammy,” she said, crying softly.

“It won’t. We’re gonna find Alison. Trust me.” He barely caught the next 3 words as she said them against his shoulder. Barely.

“I love you.” He pressed a kiss to her hair before resting his chin on top gently.

“I love you too.”

* * *

Sammy was playing with his train, eating his sandwich with the other hand while the others had their lunch in the other room, discussing the rest of the case while they ate. “All right, so this unsub has the money he needs. Why hasn't he let the Sparks go?” Dave asked.

“He has to be holding them for a reason,” Ashley answered. “Alison tried to withdraw $40,000 from the branch in Bayside, but she only got 10,000. So maybe he's holding them until he gets the money he needs.”

“I think it's more than that,” Derek said. “I think he wants a specific amount.”

“Alison kept telling the bank manager that 10 grand wasn't enough. That says to me he's told them what would be,” Emily said before Penelope popped up on the laptop screen.

_“I have run every ‘L’ I can find, think of, or make up in my giant magic head and nothing hits. I even ran the number 50 in case Sammy has some sort of predilection to Roman numerals. Came up dry.”_

“Any luck on finding Sammy's next of kin?” Aaron asked her.

_“In name only. Charlie has a sister named Elizabeth that was last reported residing in Mont Belvieu, Tejas. But she's not responding to calls or email.”_

“Elizabeth. The ‘L’ could stand for Liz or Lizzie,” Spencer offered.

“Garcia, we need to find her and fast.”

 _“I will move so fast that the earth will reverse its rotation and time bend backwards. Hello.”_ Piper couldn’t help but smile as Penelope blipped out.

* * *

While Emily, Derek and Aaron delivered their profile, Piper and Dave watched Sammy draw shapes on a fresh piece of paper until Spencer returned with Mrs Rogers, Sammy’s elementary teacher. Piper looked up, offering her a smile and a handshake as Spencer introduced her. “He’s been busy,” Mrs Rogers said, smiling fondly as she took in the several pictures Sammy had drawn. She seemed brighter, Spencer thought as Piper stepped aside, letting Mrs Rogers try talking to him. “Hi, Sammy,” Mrs Rogers tried. “What’s this?” But as soon as Mrs Rogers pointed at the drawing of ‘L’s in black and red, Sammy started rocking his body back and forth. “It’s okay, Sammy, it’s me, Mrs Rogers.”

“Do you have any idea what that "L" might stand for?” Spencer asked the woman while Piper intervened, offering Sammy a stim toy instead to help him calm down. Dave watched the young boy fiddle with the cube’s buttons, his rocking slowing down until finally, he set the toy down, making an unfamiliar motion with his fingers.

“What’s he doing?” Dave asked.

“I have no idea,” Mrs Rogers admitted, moving over to Dr Reid’s side.

“He’s never done that before,” Piper murmured.

“Is he typing something?” Dave asked her again.

“I don’t think so,” Spencer said, finally finding his voice. “I think he's trying to play something.”

“Can we get a keyboard in here?” Piper asked.

“There's a piano at his house,” Dave offered instead.

“You want to take a 10-year-old boy back to the crime scene where his father was shot?” Mrs Rogers asked, outraged but Piper’s face was unreadable.

“Sammy's trying to tell us something,” Rossi countered. “I think it's important we try to figure out what.”

“No,” Piper said, her voice thick with emotion. “He’s already overstimulated just being here.”

“Piper, Sammy was playing the piano when his parents were abducted,” Spencer tried reasonably. “So, taking him back to the exact location might trigger an important response.”

“Yeah, one that might wound him beyond repair,” Piper countered, careful not to raise her voice.

“You have a better idea?” Rossi asked.

“Yeah. Guess what time it is?” Spencer blinked slowly at the drawings.

“3:00,” Spencer murmured. “That’s not an ‘L’.” Piper followed his gaze before promptly smacking her forehead as Spencer took off his wristwatch, leaving Dave confused. Piper changed the time on Spencer’s watch to 2:30 while he explained that Sammy had been trying to tell them what happened to his parents all along. “Sammy thinks in symbols. Look at the drawings.” He pulled out the light blue drawing of multiple anchors before revealing his socks with the same colour anchors on them, then the brown acorn doodles, similar to Piper’s necklace before the dark blue squares on Sammy’s notebook, some darker than the others, resembling the tread of Rossi’s Italian shoes.

“Hey, Sammy. It’s almost 3 o’clock. Isn’t there somewhere you should be?”

“Should be shop,” he said, the first few words he had said all day.

“Would you like me to take you there?” Piper asked as Sammy stood up and together, the group trailed after him before guiding him into a police car to take him into the music store. A uniformed officer standing guard outside the store let the four of them inside and Sammy made his way down the store to the keyboard where he usually sat. Spencer and Piper followed him while Rossi lingered near the register with Mrs Rogers, backtracking the surveillance tape to 3 o’clock.

“Sammy, would it be okay if I sat here?” Spencer asked and Sammy didn’t respond. Spencer glanced at Piper who nodded slowly. Spencer sat down beside Sammy on the keyboard, starting to play scales on the keyboard as Piper watched. Sammy repeated the keys after him and when Spencer played the same scales backwards, Sammy repeated that too. “Woah, you’ve been holding out on me, Sammy,” Spencer said, smiling broadly at the boy and Piper mirrored him, a fond smile playing on her lips.

“I didn’t know you could play,” Piper murmured. He’d always asked her to play a piece on her guitar, but he’d never mention playing the piano.

“I can't. Well, I never have before, but it's essentially all math,” he said, glancing up at Piper who was leaning against the only bare wall in the store. “Sammy, how about you play this note—” Spencer played a C note “—for yes and this note—” He played an F note “—for no. Does that sound like something you could do?” Sammy played the C note once. “Yeah, exactly. Just like that. Now, Sammy, do you remember when the man came and took your parents away?” He played the C note again as Morgan entered the store with Elizabeth Sparks. Sammy played the C note another 3 times before starting to play a classical piece. “Sammy, I don't understand. Does this song mean something to you?” Sammy stopped abruptly before taking his right hand and placing it on Spencer’s hand. Slowly, he lifted the hand up to place it on the appropriate keys. Then, moving his hand to the other side of the keyboard, he started playing the piece again. Spencer and Piper watched a few times before Spencer played the same music on his side of the board until they were both playing together until Rossi called them over to him and Morgan.

“Here's when Sammy gets to the store,” Dave pointed at the screen. 2:30 pm.

“They changed the music,” Derek pointed out. “Why would they do that?”

“It's for Sammy. Classical might be more comforting than hard rock,” Piper answered.

“That’s the same piece,” Spencer said slowly, recognising the song. “At 3 p.m. the song plays, the same song every day at the same time because Charlie Sparks puts the CD in at 2:30 when Sammy arrives. Sammy's never late because Sammy sticks to a schedule, a routine. 30 minutes later...” He points to the deliveryman entering the store at 3 pm. “This man arrives. A deliveryman with a routine all of his own.”

“That’s our unsub,” Derek surmised, pulling his cell out to call Penelope.

 _“Former fisherman turned part-time deliveryman, saddled with more debt than he and his recently removed sons could sustain, including a foreclosing house and a defaulted boat loan. Why didn't you tell me you were looking for Bill Thomas at 1024 Elmwood Avenue?”_ She answered smugly and Piper broke into a smile.

“What about his boat?” Piper asked her.

 _“Docked in the marina,”_ Pen answered brightly.

 _“We're closer to the house,”_ Aaron’s voice came through.

“Okay, we'll take the boat,” Derek announced, and the three profilers piled into the one SUV before racing down to the marina while Piper kept Sammy occupied, playing the same piece on one of the guitars in the store.

The docked boat on the marina was surrounded by cops waiting for the SWAT team to arrive while Aaron’s half of the team arrived at an empty house. It wasn’t until a single gunshot resounded that Derek took his half of the team and breached the boat, being the first through the door to see Alison Sparks sobbing softly over her husband’s dead body, Bill Thomas lying next to the staircase. “Ma’am, are you hurt?”

“No,” she sobbed while Spencer texted Piper the news. Derek waited for Alison to sober while the others scattered outside. Eventually an SUV pulled up to the scene and an officer opened the back door to let Sammy out of the car. He walked as if in a daze as his mother stepped off the boat with Derek. Piper exited the vehicle as Alison was on her knees in front of her son, as if in apology for what happened to his father. She walked around over to Spencer who tucked an arm around her, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead as they watched Sammy move his slightly vibrating hand to his mother’s shoulder. She leaned her head against Spencer’s vest as Alison hugged her son.

* * *

That night, Alison went home with her son and sister-in-law, finding a care package on Sammy’s bed filled to the brim with stim toys, guidebooks and a collection of social stories written by Carol Gray. She handed Sammy the first toy, a pretty blue fidget cube while she rummaged through the bag for someone to thank, only to see a small tag stapled to it with a phone number and the name _Dr Piper Bishop_ signed neatly on the label.

That night, Derek returned to his office, starting on his paperwork for the case until Penelope entered the room with a pair of red heels and a bowl of popcorn. Derek beamed at her, practically throwing his pencil in the air.

That night, Aaron opened the door to his son’s room, bending down next to him to press a kiss to Jack’s hair while he slept under the cover of his duvet.

That night, David called up Ashley to his office before handing her a console as they played video games, laughing after the first round when Ashley’s car slammed into a tree.

That night, Piper snorted softly, shovelling a mouthful of chocolate ice-cream before helping Spencer set up the keyboard in her apartment before spending the night teaching him how to read music by strumming a note on her guitar before he would try to match it with the right note.

That night, Emily made her way through the barely lit park with two cups of coffee, just the way he liked it before placing both on a table and taking a seat. She waited for hours, making it abundantly clear to anyone watching who she was waiting for until finally, a familiar hand pressed to her shoulder. “I knew you were watching me.”

“What’s the expression?” his Irish accent purred as Ian moved his hand and stepped into the light. “Keep your friends close, your enemies under surveillance.”

“I’ve been waiting here for 2 hours,” she said. “You should know better than to keep a lady waiting.”

“Seems hypocritical seeing as I had to wait 7 years.” He stared at her for a moment before taking his seat.

“Hello, Ian.”

“Hello, Lauren,” he answered before amending himself. “Oh wait, Lauren Reynolds died in a car accident, didn’t she?”

“What do you want?” Emily asked.

“You,” he answered and if Emily was unnerved, she didn’t show it. “Oh, not today. Don’t worry about that. But soon.”

“I’ve got a Glock levelled at your crotch. What’s to stop me taking you and the little ones out right now?”

“You’d never make it back to your car and you know it,” he answered easily. “Tell me,” he inhaled. “Does the lovely Penelope know the truth or is she too busy watching movies with Derek to care?” Emily blinked twice, unmoving, her gaze never flinching from his cold, steel eyes. “Here you are, all alone, while Aaron sits at home with his son. And why didn’t Dave and Ashley invite you to their game night? Maybe they thought you would be with your best friend going salsa dancing.” He winced, remembering his mistake. “No, wait, she’s playing doctor-doctor with Dr Reid.” Ian smirked. “Oh, that one does have some quirks.”

“Come near my team and I will end you,” she threatened.

“Oh, I don’t have a quarrel with them. How long that remains the case depends entirely on you. They’re innocent. You’re not,” he said simply.

“I was doing my job.”

“I think you did a little more than that. You took the only thing that mattered to me. So, I’m going to take the only thing that matters to you. Your life.” He placed a small calling card on the table, a dark four-leaf clover embellished over a gold background. “Honore de Balzac once said, "Most people of action are inclined to fatalism, and most of thought believe in Providence." Tell me, Emily Prentiss,” he said, rising from his seat. “Which do you think you're going to be?” She stared at darkness as he walked away, leaving the coffee behind with the woman who had to save her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've tried to portray autism as authentically as possible but being a neurotypical person myself, it may not be accurate. If there's an issue you'd like to be corrected, please let me know as soon as possible in the comment box below.


	5. Valhalla

Emily Prentiss made her way through the station, weaving in and out of crowds to get to the train. Once inside, she made her way to the very middle before taking a seat, a hand inside her purse resting around her Glock 17. But the steady rhythm of the train lulled her to sleep despite her every instinct until she felt a warmth sit next to her. “Bonsoir,” Clyde greeted her as she flinched awake, thankful for not shooting her gun. « C’est ta bonne chance que je ne travaille pas avec Doyle. On le montera il y a trois stations. »

« On ? » Emily asked.

« Ça va ? » Tsia asked, walking over to sit in front of Emily.

« Ian Doyle est arrivé à DC. » Emily remarked.

« Comment le sais-tu ?” Clyde asked her cynically.

« On prendera du café le soir derniere, » Emily retorted.

« Quoi ? » Tsia was shocked.

« Il a dit que si je le dis à quelqu’un, il tuera mon équipe »

« Pourquoi ne t’a-t-il pas tué ? » Emily simply shrugged at Tsia’s question.

« Plus important encore, pourquoi ne l’as-tu pas tue ? » Clyde amended.

« Il pas travaille seul, » Emily countered.

“Then he's just playing with you,” Tsia switched to English, satisfied no-one who was listening in cared.

“No, no, he's a power assertive psychopath,” Clyde corrected her. “He doesn't play games.”

“He's meticulous,” Emily agreed. “He plans everything down to the last detail.”

“Yeah, that last detail being you,” Clyde countered.

“Maybe you _should_ tell your team,” Tsia advised but there was no hesitation. This was Emily’s fight.

“No. No way. This isn't their fight. And I won't take that risk,” she insisted.

“We stay together, we can get him,” Tsia promised.

“We already tried. Look how that ended up,” Emily referenced and Tsia’s face fell at the reference to Jeremy’s death.

“Wait. Wait,” Clyde interrupted. “When you went undercover, I promised no one would harm you.”

“I'm not undercover anymore,” Emily reminded him. “DC isn't his comfort zone, it's mine. This ends here,” she insisted as the train came to a stop and Emily got off, as though that was her intention from the beginning before hopping into another one headed for Quantico.

* * *

Everyone was already assembled in the briefing room, Penelope briefing the others on two houses that had been torched recently, a topic which surprisingly hadn’t hit the news. One looked like a murder-suicide while the other seemed to be a gas leak, the only connection being that one victim from each house was from Europe. Garcia had just finished when Emily burst through the door. “I’m so sorry for being late.”

“You ok?” Piper asked, surveying her best friend.

“Yeah, it's just one of those weeks, I guess. I'm sorry. What did I miss? Arsonist?” Emily asked, glancing at the burned bodies on the screen.

“One appears to be murder-suicide, the other a freak accident,” Derek answered.

“So why are we looking at it?”

“House fires are rare. Add to that a few miles apart, within the same hour, kind of tips the scales of coincidence,” Dave remarked next to Ashley.

“Yeah, if somebody did this, they're highly motivated and organized,” Spencer continued.

“And if he wants to strike again, he's got 72 hours before the storm shuts the city down,” Aaron said, getting up and dismissing them to their SUVs. Aaron and Dave left followed by Spencer and Derek and Emily started to leave with Piper shouldering her bag as Penelope cornered the other woman.

“What's his name?” Penelope asked, getting all giggly like a schoolgirl.

“I'm sorry?” Emily asked, adjusting her bag.

“Oh, answering a question with a question. That's interesting,” she laughed.

“Stop it,” Emily told her.

“Stop what, probing?” Piper looked over at them, grabbing her tablet.

“Seriously,” Emily insisted.

“I'm gonna make it my life's work to find out who this boy is...”

“Penelope,” Piper called out, rescuing Emily. “We need to go.”

“Right. Sorry. Venture forth, my brave babes.” Piper smiled, kissing Penelope’s cheek before following Emily out.

“Your dahlias?” Piper asked.

“Don’t start,” Emily barked, dropping down the staircase through the bullpen.

“What, no ‘thanks for saving my ass from Penelope’s unhinged gossip-sniffing nose’?” Piper scoffed and Emily veered around, walking backwards to the elevator.

“Thank you for saving my ass from…” Emily trailed off, backing into the elevator.

“Penelope’s unhinged gossip-sniffing nose.”

“Right,” Emily smiled slowly. Piper let the elevator doors close on the two of them. “Remember how I told you my dahlias were sick?” Emily said slowly. She owed Piper some semblance of the truth. “Someone’s poisoning them.” Piper’s lips parted slowly in surprise. “The roots could die if I don’t cut them all off.”

“Maybe they’re just getting cold,” Piper said, her eyes bright as she referenced the case files she’d once seen in her apartment.

“No, it’s probably one of my exes.” Piper snorted softly.

“Which one?”

“2004.” Piper glanced back at her.

“Before the BAU?” She narrowed her eyes at her as Emily moved past her after the elevator doors opened to one SUV left. “You can’t keep dahlias in the dark, Emily. They need sunlight or they’ll wither away,” Piper retorted, getting into the car.

“I’m hoping you can take care of that.” Piper’s forehead wrinkled as Emily tapped at the drawer in front of her before turning the radio all the way up, Green Day blasting as Piper glanced through the envelope without taking anything out. “I dunno, I’m not an expert, Emily. If they get too bad, you might need a gardener,” Piper murmured.

“It won’t go there.”

“And if it does?” Piper retorted. “Emily, I gave you those dahlias. I’m not going to let them die.”

“And I’m telling you, I won’t let it get there,” Emily assured her, meeting her gaze as they pulled onto the I-95. “But…I cut off a dahlia for JJ’s birthday once. After she left.” Piper watched Emily; her face unreadable before she started pulling off her silver rings. “Wha-What are you doing?”

“They’re a little tight,” Piper said nonchalantly, passing her three of her six. “They’ll look better on you.”

“Okay,” Emily agreed, and their conversation lulled, Green Day singing about September until they pulled up to the house.

* * *

Piper walked through the remains of the house, thankful that she wasn’t the one looking at the bodies while Emily caught up to her, slipping her phone into her pocket. “That was weird. They're not coming. There was some mix-up with Metro PD and we're on our own. What do you have?” Piper glanced at the tablet in her hands.

“Well, the fire didn't spread because they had hard-wired smoke alarms and a sprinkler system. And apparently, there’s a panic room in there,” Piper said, pointing to the steel door.

“Seems paranoid to me.”

“Well, he owned a 40-calibre and just as many locks,” Piper scoffed.

“I’m not sure you should talk,” Emily joked. “You have 5 locks on your front door alone.”

“Yeah, because two federal agents live there,” she blurted out before widening her eyes.

“You moved in together?” Emily whirled around to ask her, and Piper stammered at the look of devilish glee in her eyes.

“Don’t tell Derek, I’m begging you.” Emily laughed for the first time all week until the uniformed officer who had let them in glanced at them weirdly. “This is why Hotch doesn’t send us to crime scenes together,” Piper said, pulling her phone out as it buzzed. “You’re on speaker, Garcia.”

_“Okay. There is no history of any kind of psychological weirdness with either family. They were healthy, happy, fit. Until last night. Any signs of financial stress? No. They were healthy on that front, too.”_

“Any signs of financial stress?” Emily asked.

_“No. They were healthy on that front, too.”_

_“You know, considering the time these fires occurred, the habitual patterns of both families were in direct conflict with where the bodies were found,”_ Spencer’s voice filtered out.

“The master bedroom?” Piper asked confused.

_“Yeah, normally Lauren Cosenza would be downstairs helping her son with his homework, and Ron wouldn't even be home from work yet.”_

“What about the Fagans?” Emily asked.

_“Their routines were less established. They travelled a lot. But they were expected at a dinner party last night.” Piper jutted out her lip._

“That _is_ weird.”

_“No, what’s weird is that not a single snowflake has fallen and yet the weather remains the top news story,” Penelope retorted._

“I’d take it as a good sign, Pen. We don’t need unnecessary media attention,” Piper said. “We’re coming back in, see ya.” Piper hung up, slipping the phone into her pocket as the two women left for the car. “What’s strange is that there’s no connection between the victims,” Piper said as Emily settled behind the wheel.

“There has to be one,” Emily said.

“Yeah, but on paper, they’re clean, perfect. The only thing slightly similar is that they’re from Europe.” Piper snickered softly as a thought occurred to her.

“What?”

“Nothing, just. Imagine if it’s actually someone who just has a grudge against Europeans.” Emily snorted, but there was no humour in it.

* * *

Piper left to update Hotch while Emily dumped her bag next to Spencer’s desk as he physically flinched. “Oh, sorry,” she winced.

“I thought you were in there,” Spencer said, gesturing to Hotch’s office.

“Are you ok?” Emily asked, strange to be on the other side of that question.

“Yeah, I'm... I'm... I'm sure these victims overlap somehow. Garcia pulled their phone numbers, but so far, I can't find anything.”

“You just jumped,” Emily emphasised.

“I've been having these really intense headaches lately,” Spencer said quietly.

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“Yeah, a few, you know, apart from Piper,” he said, eliciting a soft snort from Emily. “None of them have been able to figure it out.”

“Oh. I'm...sorry. Does anyone know?” Spencer pursed his lips at the question.

“You.”

“I won't tell anyone,” Emily offered after a brief pause.

“I know. They'd just worry. Not that you're not gonna worry, but they'll just make me feel like a baby,” he said with a soft laugh. “You know?”

“I do.”

“How are you?”

“I'm good,” Emily said, painting a fake smile on her face.

“You've been picking your fingernails again,” Spencer noticed, glancing back at his files. “You only do that when you're stressed.”

“It's just a bad habit,” she dismissed, and Spencer looked up just as Piper and Hotch emerged from the office.

“Aha!” he exclaimed, closing the file and rising from his seat to join the others. “You coming?”

“Yeah. I'll be there in a minute,” Emily said, and Spencer nodded before leaving just as Piper hung back, smiling as he joined her. Emily watched the couple walk into the conference room sharing a smile and a mission and Emily’s fake one faded away.

* * *

Penelope was urging Hotch to let her figure out what was going on with the media while Spencer explained the connection he had found, with both victims having one common phone number listed in their call logs, belonging, as Penelope found out, to a British Byron Delaney. Sighing, Piper backtracked out the door. “Send me the address, Prentiss and I will deal with it.”

Emily caught Piper sprinting down the stairs. “Really, again?”

“Yup. C’mon, we’ll be faster on my bike.”

“I thought you stopped riding in after the accident?” Emily asked her as she grabbed her keys from a desk drawer and they started walking down to the elevators.

“I did. Then I got insurance. Good enough for me.”

“So, what’s the take on these guys?” Emily asked as the elevator doors closed.

“Hotch and Derek said they're contradicting themselves, exposing bodies but then going through all of this to hide it.”

“What do you think?” The elevator doors opened to the parking lot.

“I dunno, things aren’t adding up. One guy’s Italian; made to look like a murder-suicide. The other guy’s German; made to look like a gas leak. That’s enough to cover it. Why blow up both houses?” Piper asked before pulling on her helmet. “I’m gonna need you to give me directions,” Piper said, her voice muffled as she snapped the screen of her helmet down, passing her a mic from her pocket. Emily put the earwig in, settling on the back seat as Piper turned over the engine.

They didn’t speak again till Capitol Hill was in sight. “Do you think they wanted us on the case?”

“Why would they?”

“Ego. Control. Some kind of agenda.”

“I’d be kinda pissed off at the media if I didn’t make the news after all this. I don't think we're even on their radar, Em.”

“You're right,” Emily amended. “Left turn here.” Piper’s tires squealed as she made the turn before skidding to a stop. Emily lumbered off the bike.

“You sure this is it?” Piper’s muffled voice came through as she turned the engine off, swinging her leg off the bike.

“Maybe nobody's home,” Emily suggested as Piper started unbuckling the helmet when the door of the house opened, revealing someone in a white mask.

“Piper, run!” Emily yelled, sprinting for the next car to shelter from the bullets. Piper followed, squatting behind a white car as Emily unholstered her Glock. Piper followed, pulling her Beretta out, her helmet still on as the windows shattered. As soon as the gunshots faded, Piper popped up from behind Emily, firing two consecutive shots before ducking back down as Emily sprinted to the next car. They used the line of parked cars as a shield, crawling from one car to the next, firing to cover each other. Emily shot next, letting Piper run over to catch up and they kept going until they reached the corner. Behind a red car, Emily counted to three before cropping up, nicking the last one in the leg as Piper reached the boot of the car, shooting again to nick the other one as Emily pulled out her phone to dial Garcia, telling her to put out a BOLO on a dark van. “Did they get you?” Emily asked as Piper groaned, pulling off her helmet as the van drove away.

“No, they nicked my helmet.” Emily sighed.

“You could be a little more serious sometimes,” Emily said, huffing as she got up from her knees.

“That wouldn’t be any fun,” Piper said, rising from her squat as she fixed her hair, following Emily who stood over the young man they had both hit. “That’s a double-tap to the head, one to the wrist and the legs we took out.”

“They knew it was a matter of time. We hit the femoral artery.”

“He was dead, and they knew it,” Piper sighed as Metro PD heralded their arrival with sirens.

“Bet he didn't bargain on that when he signed up,” Emily scoffed as Piper squatted next to the body.

“Why the wrist? He was dead before his head hit the sidewalk.” Emily stepped over the body to take a better look at the wrist.

“That’s a tattoo,” Emily remarked, and Piper pulled out her cell, snapping a photo.

“I’m gonna send it to Spence, maybe he can reconstruct the tattoo.”

“Really?”

“It’s my own fault, I bought him a book on prison tattoos after that Florida guy.” Emily nodded, pursing her lips as Piper stood up. “He’ll figure it out. We should get a look inside the house.” Emily opened the door for Piper who mouthed a thank you as she spoke to Spencer. “Okay, first of all, Emily was with me too, second, I’m sending you an obliterated tattoo, third, check Irish symbolism…” Piper let out a breath. “No, because they were wearing leprechaun hats,” Piper scoffed, and Emily raised her eyebrows at her. “I dunno, it’s a hunch. One of them had an accent. Yeah. You too.”

“You caught the accent?” Emily asked, looking around the elaborate house.

“In between all the shots I missed,” Piper scoffed, her gaze falling on the dead man on the couch. “Looks like a heart attack.” Emily pointed at the shoe, which was untied, and Piper took it off, then the sock, trying not to gag at the smell before blinking twice. “That’s definitely a puncture wound.”

“Not a heart attack. And did you notice the doors?” Emily asked as Piper made her way around the couch. “Armor tech windows, 6-pin locks on the entrance door. Same as the Fagans and the Cosenzas.”

“This is weird,” Piper said, gazing at the open suitcase on the floor. “Standard Beretta, that must be about 20 000 in cash, passports, this guy was on the move.” Emily pulled out her phone, dialling Garcia.

“Garcia, can you check outgoing calls for me?”

“One second, yeah, okay. 3218, that’s Kerry Fagan, 10:30 am, 10:31 am, Delaney calls the Cosenzas. Both calls last only seconds.”

“He was trying to warn them,” Emily said, hanging up abruptly.

“But somebody had to have warned this guy. If not on the phone, then in person. A bunch of Irishmen come to the U.S. and consecutively kill an Italian, a German and now a Briton, covering it up professionally.”

“It’s a European hit squad,” Emily surmised. “We need to get back.” Piper nodded and the ladies left the house.

“Oh, baby, what did they do to you?” Piper murmured as they approached the bike, paint scratches all over the cycle.

“Piper, spare me the eulogy and hurry up,” Emily said, tossing her the helmet which she caught and pulled on before turning the engine over and tearing down the street.

* * *

Spencer was focused on recreating the tattoo, scrunched up balls of paper all over his desk, his tongue slightly sticking out until he heard his partner’s voice. “Hey, what do you have?”

“The damage is pretty extensive, but luckily some of the tattoo remains,” Spencer said, still sketching out the full drawing. Piper took a seat on his desk, watching him sketch methodically as Hotch and Rossi joined them. Emily relayed their findings to the others and Hotch told Seaver to get a photo of their victim to the press until Penelope joined them from the elevators. Piper raised her eyebrow at the borderline-stalking that Penelope had done to get a hold of the only journalist who referenced these crimes.

“The journo told me to follow the money, like straight up, that's what he told me, so I did. It turns out ‘The Gazette’ is owned by a multinational global conglomerate... oil, new technologies, shipping, air and ground transportation, all of which employ the services of one company... CWS.”

“Clearwater Securities,” Hotch supplied.

“You know them?” Piper asked

“I’ve come across them,” Aaron corrected. “They’re a private counterintelligence group out of Geneva.”

“Ron Cosenza, Byron Delaney, Kerry Fagan all worked for CWS 7 years ago.”

“Seaver, hang up,” Aaron told her.

“Do we have a problem?” Dave asked.

“Well, CWS does,” he said as Spencer exclaimed.

“Got it.” Spencer rolled back in his chair, showing everyone the note pad. “Four-leaf clover’s Irish enough for you?” he asked, a smug smile on his face and Piper held back her smile, especially when Emily backed away from the group. Piper made to follow except Hotch stopped her by asking about the significance of the clover while Penelope trailed after Emily.

“Uh, other than the usual good luck and fair fortune dialogue, there are some European agrarian political parties that used the clover as a symbol but that was in the interwar period and none of them Irish.”

“Also, the stem is rather strange,” Spencer pointed out. “Clovers don’t have this V-shaped stems.”

“So, it’s an Irish hit squad that’s associated with something to do with the letter V?” Dave asked, cynically. “Fantastic.” Aaron’s gaze fell on Piper who had her thumbnail between her teeth.

“You have a connection, Bishop?”

“I’m not sure,” she said thoughtfully. “These guys are nationalists, they’re proud of their heritage.”

“Like the IRA?” Spencer asked.

“Maybe, but then they’d use the dragon, not a clover. Besides, the IRA has split into too many factions to count,” Piper scoffed until her face slackened, and she stood up, meeting Aaron’s gaze. “Could these guys be a faction of the IRA?”

“It makes sense,” Rossi offered. “Irish nationalists targeting European counterintelligence agents.” Aaron absorbed this, pulling out his phone to call someone.

“You know, in August 1994, the IRA declared a complete cessation of all military activities, and in October a similar cease-fire was declared by loyalist paramilitary groups fighting to preserve Northern Ireland’s union with Britain,” Spencer offered.

“That could seem like a betrayal to these guys,” Derek suggested. “It’s probably why they broke away in the first place.”

“Could V actually stand for Vendetta?” Dave asked, the irony bitter in his tone.

“Patrick Nee was an Irishman who tried to smuggle seven tons of AK-47 assault rifles to the Provisional IRA on a fishing trawler called the Valhalla,” Spencer provided.

“The Nordic equivalent of Heaven,” Piper murmured. “Fallen warriors upholding the tenets of their God.” She looked up, meeting Derek’s eyes. “That sounds like them.” They turned to see Hotch approaching their group, evidently finished with his call. “Seaver, find Prentiss, tell her I want her in the SCIF.” He waited till the blonde had disappeared before turning to the rest of the team. “The rest of us are going into the meeting.”

* * *

Emily had her phone raised to her ear, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She looked paler than usual, her eyes puffier than normal and she hung up as soon as Penelope entered the bathroom. “Are you okay?” Emily was seriously sick of people asking her that question.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I'm good,” she said, trying to play it off.

“I-I know I’m not a profiler, but—”

“Oh, don’t start,” Emily said before immediately regretting her words. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—I just—I’m gonna be alright.”

“Okay,” Penelope said softly. “I'm just really worried about you, and I think the flu is going around and…” She trailed off, a different thought occurring to her. “Are you pregs?” Emily smiled softly.

“No,” she said, meeting Penelope’s worried gaze. “No, I'm just... I'm not sleeping. I'm having this nightmare. It's a recurring nightmare. I... There's a hill, and there's a little girl on top of the hill. She's like 6 years old, dark hair. And she's just dancing in the sun. But somehow, I know that she's waiting for me, so I start to walk up the hill... But the hill gets steeper and steeper, and by the time I climb to the top, the little girl's gone. And I look everywhere for her, and when I can't find her, I start to panic. And I panic because I know what's waiting out there for her. I know what the world can do to a girl who only sees beauty. Like you. Somehow you... You always make me smile. And I don't think I've ever thanked you for that.” If Penelope was about to respond, she couldn’t as the door to the bathrooms opened, revealing Ashley.

“Hotch wants you in the SCIF?” Emily nodded, flashing Penelope a small smile before sidling past them. “What’s a SCIF?” Ashley asked Penelope.

“Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility.”

“So, no room for tech analysts and training officers?” Ashley asked, light in her blue eyes.

“No,” Penelope said slowly, her eyes trained on the door that Emily just left through. “No, there isn’t.”

* * *

Rossi opened the door for Hotch before following him inside. The others filed in after them, each taking their seat one by one. Hotch and Rossi sat opposite each other, in front of Spencer and Derek, then Piper and Emily; all 6 profilers sitting in front of 3 men in suits. “Exactly why did you bring us here? And why is the BAU interested in CWS?”

“Why did you pull that story?” Derek countered, and the CWS chief glanced at Aaron who took no step to reprimand the other agent. Instead, Aaron passed him a file which the chief opened, seeing the headshot of Byron Delaney.

“That’s how you remember him,” Aaron said, and the chief moved to picture to see the charred husk of a woman and a man who was shot in the head. “That is how they are now.”

“You warned your friend, Byron Delaney. You knew him the longest,” Derek proposed. “It’s too bad you were too late.”

“If you're looking for reactions, this is our business,” the chief said plainly but was completely unnerved by the photos.

“Business?” Dave asked.

“Ugly as that sounds.”

“Kerry Fagan, Ron Cosenza, and Byron Delaney all worked for CWS,” Piper countered. “You’re suggesting that you have no vicarious liability over their deaths?”

“As do 40, 000 other subcontractors all over the world,” the chief answered impassively.

“So, they were subcontracted to you,” Spencer clarified.

“If you’re looking for answers, take it up with our main contractor,” the man deflected, his aides silent.

“And that would be?” Dave prompted.

“Your government.”

“Whoever is killing these families holds your company responsible, not the government,” Aaron challenged unimposingly.

“We run operations from the Middle East to Antarctica. Going over them, all will take months.”

“So, you’ve already started investigations?” Aaron asked calmly, eliciting no response from the chief.

“That’s why you pulled the story,” Dave reasoned, and all six profilers watched intensely as his aide whispered something to him.

“The cases these people were involved in are protected by a multinational official secrets agreement. Even if I wanted to—”

“These people,” Derek said, emphasising his words, “were killed on U.S. soil by trained suspects who fired on two federal agents.”

“As a courtesy and out of respect for the predicament your company now faces,” Aaron said, hoping the gravity of the situation had been understood by the bureaucrats in front of them. “Everything in this room is off the record. However, outside this room, if you withhold information about the case, you and your company will be held fully accountable.” All three of his aides looked at the chief of the security company.

“What would you like to know?”

“We’re looking for a European team, with considerable training. And for one of them, it's personal.” Out of the corner of her eye, Piper noticed the smallest sliver of Emily flinching before correcting her gaze to the men she was meant to be delivering a profile to.

“Why do you think that?”

“Because they could have spared the child,” Derek explained. “The killing of Samuel Cosenza by one of the team was personal.”

“One of the attackers shot last night had the remains of a tattoo on his wrist,” Emily continued.

“On the surface, it may look like a simple four-leaf clover, but the stem has a ‘V’ at the end,” Spencer elaborated, glancing at Piper next to him.

“We believe this is associated with a hidden sect of fallen warriors,” Piper noted. “It's also the name of an arms-smuggling ship famous for its journeys from Dublin to America; the ‘Valhalla’.” Rossi noted the expressions of recognition from the chief’s aides.

“Have you seen that before?” he asked.

“We ran an operation to capture the leader of a breakaway IRA faction years ago. He assumed that moniker,” the chief obliged.

“His name?” Aaron prompted.

“Ian Doyle.”

* * *

Hotch had told Penelope to set up a search for Ian Doyle immediately and by the time they’d made it back to the conference room, Penelope had a single update, one that Emily already knew about. Every agency in the Northern hemisphere had a bullseye on him and now, so did every district, airport and security officer in the entire state. “It's not that I'm not happy that we have his name,” Ashley asked. “But how are we supposed to know who's on his list?”

“We study his life and every single person he's ever come in contact with,” Derek said, stealing the mug of coffee that Piper had stolen from Spencer.

“Look, Doyle's been away for 7 years, but he still managed to figure out who the players were,” Emily said, veering the investigation into how he was arrested. “Maybe we should start with how he got out of prison.”

“Where was he locked up?” Piper asked, glaring at Derek as she sat down.

“Russia, I think,” Emily said, making an air of recalling it.

“Actually, there are no extradition papers on him,” Ashley countered.

“Maybe we should start from the beginning,” Piper proposed. “If Doyle is a part of an IRA faction, then he was most likely involved in domestic and international terrorism. In all likelihood, he probably started out with a paramilitary organisation. So, what made him go from Irish republicanism to this?”

“Prentiss, was Doyle on your radar when you were at Interpol?” Aaron asked, and Emily balked, forcing her gaze onto her boss.

“Uh, sure, I had heard of him, but direct contact? I'd have to ask around.”

“Do,” Aaron urged, turning back to his team as Emily left.

“Good guys and bad keep files close to them,” Dave pointed out.

“What are in these files?” Penelope asked, her innate curiosity getting the better of her.

“It's intel. Insurance. Protection. For times like this,” Dave explained.

“Which means somewhere in Delaney’s house, he might have something we can use?” Piper asked, but Dave shrugged.

“Maybe I should go to Byron Delaney's house and see what I can find. Bishop, you in?” She shook her head.

“It’s your turn to get shot at,” she scoffed, and Derek chuckled.

“Take Prentiss with you,” Aaron said, holding in his smirk. “She might have some insight.”

* * *

In the SUV, Emily checked her phone for the _n_ th time before huffing and gazing out the window. “No-one’s getting back to you?” Derek asked, glancing at her.

“I only have a couple of contacts, but they'll get back to me,” she assured him, sounding uncertain herself as she glanced at her side mirror.

“What, are we being followed, double 07?” Derek chuckled.

“No, but you should go through the city,” Emily advised. “66 is gonna be miserable right now.”

“We’ll get there,” Derek said, trying to help her be a little more laidback. It didn’t work.

“Oh, before Doyle takes somebody else out! He's shooting up federal agents. What's he gonna do next?”

“What would you like me to do?” Derek protested.

“Get creative with your driving,” she urged him.

“I'm working on it, Prentiss.” But whatever Emily might have retorted next was blocked by her cell ringtone.

“Hey, I need some intel on Ian Doyle,” Emily said, knowing Tsia would understand.

_“Are you alone?”_

Not at all. Anything you can spare.”

 _“Is your team in danger?”_ Clyde asked.

“Absolutely. You should start with our victims, Ron Cosenza, Kerry Fagan, Byron Delaney. See if they connect to Doyle in any way.”

 _“I'll send you a document,”_ Tsia replied.

“I'll be waiting for it. Thanks.” Derek glanced at Emily before turning back to the road.

“You find something?”

“I don’t know, we’ll see,” Emily said, sighing gently. She’d told Penelope about the recurring nightmare, but at this point, Doyle was the nightmare, worse than anything she’d had before. Derek could feel the stress emanating from Emily in waves. He just wished she’d talk about it.

“You know, Emily, you really need to trust people,” Derek cautioned her.

“I trust people,” she admitted, thinking of the one person she’d trusted with half of her truth. She just hoped Piper wouldn’t need to ever know any more.

“No, you don't,” Derek countered. “You don't because you can't. And I get it. Every time you tried to count on someone, they let you down, so you go it alone,” he said. “You'll never admit that because you're just too damn stubborn. It's all right. It doesn't really matter,” he dismissed. “But I'll tell you what does matter. That you can trust me, Emily. With anything. I'm serious. No matter how awful you think it is, I promise you, you are not alone.” He glanced over at her. “I just wish you'd believe that.”

“I do,” she said, enunciating so he knew she meant it. “You profile me again; you'll wish you hadn't.” She glanced at him, a ghost of a smile on her face brought to life by his warm chuckle. As promised, Derek brought them to the house and here, standing outside the doorway, Emily could remember the sound of bullets ricocheting off of cars and glancing off Piper’s bike. Metro PD still had the house perfectly preserved and they walked in undisturbed. Emily heard a snap behind her, revealing Derek pulling on his blue gloves with a sheepish smile.

“I’ll take the upstairs,” he offered, and Emily stayed downstairs, examining the fireplace and the dining room until he came down. “There’s a safe in the upstairs bedroom.”

“Behind a big painting? Yeah, it’s not going to be there,” she murmured, walking past the sofa to the red recliner. “It's gonna be somewhere where he can sit and still gain access to it.” She rummaged through the bag next to the recliner before feeling at the underside of a small table, her gaze catching on a small ridge in the wall, barely noticeable. “And he’s got to be quick,” she said, rising from the seat over to the mahogany-coloured wall and pushing against the ridge. It gave way easily to her gentle touch and Emily pulled out a yellow document.

“Get out of here,” Derek murmured, walking over as Emily pulled out a series of pictures.

“That’s Kerry Fagan and Ron Cosenza,” Emily identified.

“Delaney’s not in it. Why would he have that picture?”

“Maybe he was their handler,” Emily proposed, and the duo packed up the envelope and started to head back.

* * *

“So, the million-dollar question is, what language is this?” Penelope said cheerfully, zooming into the picture that Emily had brought them.

“Those are villages in North Korea,” Emily identified, confusedly, and Penelope tilted her head.

“I love you. Of course, she does,” Penelope took her seat.

“There’s a political prison near Haengyong-ni.”

“Camp 22,” Piper supplied.

“Yeah, Kwan-li-so. North Korea denies it exists.”

“Course it does,” Piper scoffed. “If these guys sent Doyle there, it would explain why he’s after them. Forced labour camps aren’t exactly like summer camps.”

“And it would explain why there weren’t any extradition documents on him,” Spencer added.

“Yeah, even his prison was off the grid,” Penelope grimaced, and Piper held back a smile.

“All we know is that he was never married, had multiple residences, and was arrested at his Tuscan villa,” Piper said before yawning softly. “Sorry.”

“There’s paperwork to back that up?” Emily asked and Piper glanced at her hand, her silver rings glittering under the light.

“And a list of who was there that day,” Spencer provided, his mouth folding into a line.

“Yeah, we’re gonna start going through the names, but hopefully there are photographs somewhere,” Piper said, keeping her gaze on Emily.

“Those people need to be warned that they’re on the warpath,” Dave said.

“They have been,” Ashley said. “But there's a whole different life he's led, one that isn't in any file.”

“Prentiss, did you hear from your European associates?” Aaron asked.

“I'm waiting for them to send me a document,” Emily answered.

“We need it now,” Hotch reminded her and Emily nodded, leaving the room.

* * *

“Doyle was in Kwan-li-so?” Emily challenged through her cell phone as Spencer made his way down the catwalk.

 _“Ah, that was on a need-to-know,”_ Clyde said, and Emily flashed a smile at Spencer as he made his way to the kitchen.

“What, you didn’t think I needed to know that? Are you kidding me?”

 _“And what good would that do?”_ Clyde protested.

“You don't get to decide what's good for me anymore,” Emily seethed, not noticing Piper glancing ever so often at her through the briefing room window. “What else aren't you telling me?”

_“That's it.”_

“You said he was in Russia.”

_“No, actually, Sean McAllister told you that.”_

“Tsia?” Emily called out desperately. “Get him off the phone.”

_“What are you gonna do, Em? Huh? What are you gonna do? You gonna run away? Yeah, you're good at that.”_

“Tsia,” she urged.

_“I’m here.”_

“You cannot trust him. You have got to get out of there right now. You are safer on your own. Do you remember 9th street? Corelli's? How the door works?”

_“Yeah.”_

“He's still there. You will be in and out in 5 minutes.”

_“Got it.”_

“Do not let Clyde follow you. And Tsia, be careful,” she urged her.

 _“You, too.”_ Emily heard the phone hang up before moving to the fax room, printing off the document Tsia and Clyde had managed. Pulling the freshly faxed page, Emily made her way out of the room, bumping into Spencer with his bottle of water.

“Hey, where are you headed?” she asked.

“I couldn't find any stills from the day he was arrested, but there may be some surveillance footage from the sedans. They generally record everything.” Any other case, she would have been ecstatic about the discovery.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, what’s that?” Spencer asked, his amber eyes searching hers.

“Oh, this is the only lead I have so far.” Spencer nodded.

“Well, everyone’s back in the briefing room. They’re trying to identify the rest of the people in the picture,” he supplied with a smile before backing away, getting on to his task. Emily’s smile faded as she walked away from him through to the conference room. She stood stoically in front of Aaron until he glanced up.

“You get a document from your contacts?” Aaron asked, and Emily handed him the paper.

“Bank accounts traceable to our first two victims,” Emily said. “We might be able to match the rest of those faces.”

“Good,” he said, passing the document to Penelope and Piper.

“Uh, what happened to that list of names?”

“It’s a pretty big list,” Piper supplied, looking up from her tablet. “All of them Irish, most of them staffers and everyone else had fake identities and passports. Only way to get a real photo ID on them is if they were charged and arrested with something.” The team worked for a solid couple of hours until everyone on the list with a record had been crossed off. Eventually, Piper left to grab lunch for the team while Penelope left for a coffee run and by the time Penelope entered the bullpen, it was crawling with people with similar colour jackets but different agency names on the back, going from the ATF to Interpol. Penelope walked over to Ashley who was waiting in the conference room alone.

“That journalist is eating out of my hand,” Penelope said excitedly. “He had no idea I was promising him a full-fledged manhunt!”

“It's way more than that,” Ashley said, sharing her enthusiasm. “I've counted reps from 5 agencies.”

“Oh, I love me and multi-agency task-forcing, and on our turf. It gets my blood up,” Penelope said, popping everyone’s coffee orders on the table. “When are we going to get started?”

“Oh, he's drawing up the battle plan with the troops,” Ashley said, grudgingly.

“Oh, come on, you’re almost at graduation and you know, Piper was just a consultant here and now, bam! She’s a flashy federal agent,” Penelope tried brightly.

“I just—I want her to like me,” Ashley said, taking a seat and Penelope set a latte down in front of her.

“It’s probably just case stress. Everyone gets it every now and then. We just keep trying,” Penelope said comfortingly. “Also, just between you and me, I think something’s going on between them,” she said conspiratorially.

“Really?” Penelope nodded enthusiastically and helped lift Ashley from her mood.

Meanwhile, Derek popped into Hotch’s cabin, telling them Metro PD was held up by a double homicide on K and 9th Street and Emily struggled to hold in her anguish. She had sent Tsia down there last night to Corelli’s and if she was one of them—

“I’m coming with you,” Emily volunteered. She could barely manage a word on the way there, but Derek was used to Emily’s silence this week. The smell of crime scenes had never bothered Emily before either, but the morbid smell of blood suffocated her until her gaze finally fell on Tsia’s body. Derek’s voice faded as she drowned in her grief, watching the pale, lifeless body of a woman she’d trusted, now a bullet lodged in her skull, the gold glinting and Emily couldn’t hold her stomach down any longer as she practically ran out of the building and to an alley to empty it out, the bile stinging her throat. She paid no attention to Derek’s attempt at a joke, asking him if she could go to her apartment. Derek obliged hesitantly. On the quick ride there, her mind had already started compartmentalising and instead of spiralling and thinking of all the ways Doyle could hurt her family; Derek and Piper and Penelope and Spencer and Aaron and Dave and Ashley, all with the same bullets in their brains; she had a plan.

She already had her keys out as she strode through the lobby and up the stairs to her apartment right near the fire escape. The first thing she did was pull off her heeled boots, replacing them with dark combat boots and grabbing her knives in a box above it. She’d bought a matching set for Piper once and the other woman never left home without hers. She attached the blades to her ankles before switching out her long coat for a silver-buckled leather jacket, a gift a long time ago from Penelope for her birthday. She zipped up the jacket before squatting down and opening her safe. Piper knew where her documents were, but she’d been very specific about when that trail would be opened. She retrieved a small packet from her, emptying it so a gold ring on a chain fell into her palm. She walked over to the adjoining bathroom and let it slip from her fingers, splashing into the water below before flushing it. Finally, she grabbed an extra gun from her bedside table, holstering it to her thigh. She was about to leave the apartment, every last thread sorted until her gaze fell on the flowering pot of dahlias in her kitchen. Grabbing a blade from her ankle, Emily slotted the blade between the stems, cutting one off before joining Derek downstairs. “Flowers?” he asked, starting the car as Emily slipped inside with the flower in her hand.

“I snapped at Piper a few days ago. She loves dahlias,” Emily said, her eyes pinned to the road. “Always talking about how strong they are.” Derek chuckled fondly.

“Yeah, she’s sentimental that way.”

“I thought she’d forgive me if I…if I gave it to her,” Emily said, keeping her voice from breaking. Derek glanced over at her.

“Em, Piper loves you. I mean, you two have been inseparable since the day you met.” Derek let out a short laugh. “You know, she almost yelled at Gideon once for underestimating you. I had to talk her out of it for the fear she’d lose her job.”

“I didn’t know,” Emily said quietly.

“Yeah, well, she’s always had your back. Always will,” Derek reminded her. “It doesn’t matter what you do.” Emily fought the urge not to cry, all the way to the elevators. The silver doors opened, letting the two of them out and they walked through to the crowded bullpen. Emily’s gaze shifted around the room, locking onto each member of her team. She’d never be able to mentor Ashley the way she wished she were. She’d never be able to tell Rossi how he’d always been like a father to her. She’d never be able to tell Hotch how much she admired him. Derek glanced over his shoulder at her. “You okay?” She’d never be able to tell him how much she trusted him.

“Yeah,” she lied. “I’m good.” Derek turned back around to face the front and Emily’s gaze shifted to Spencer. She’d never get to tell him that he was more than his mind, that he was a loyal friend, a brilliant ally and the kindest man she’d ever met. Finally, it shifted to Penelope. She’d never be able to explain to her that even though she lied, her nightmare was very much real. Blinking back tears, she asked Derek to hold on to her flower for a minute and as soon as he turned back to the front, Emily slipped out from behind, pushing through the double doors just as she pushed away tears just like Piper had all those days ago. She had to cut out the roots before the dying dahlia poisoned the rest of them. The elevator doors opened again, revealing the last face she wanted to lie to.

“Hey, I know, I’m late, but the guy was taking forever for Penelope’s Thai food,” Piper said, smiling until she caught a proper glimpse of Emily’s face. Emily pushed into the elevator, punching the button for the parking lot. “Emily? What’s going on?”

“One of my contacts pulled through on a lead on the double homicide.”

“Okay, let me dump these and we’ll go.”

“You—you don’t understand. I need to do this alone.” Piper laughed uneasily.

“Em, we’re a team, this doesn’t work like that.”

“This my dahlia,” Emily urged, and Piper’s face softened and despite her better instincts, she pulled out the keys.

“The helmet’s on the handle. And no scratches.” Emily smiled half-heartedly.

“You got it.” She waited until the silver doors closed between them before letting the tears fall free from her lashes. Turning around, she walked through the empty lot until she reached Piper’s bike, parked right next to her car. Unlocking the boot of her car, she grabbed a backpack before closing it again and straddled the bike. She was going to end this chapter on Doyle. Once and for all.


	6. Lauren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything comes to its conclusion in the end.

It wasn’t until Piper made her way through the now sparse bullpen that she noticed the single dahlia on her desk. Instinctively, she looked around, only finding her team start to assemble around her. “Where’d this come from?”

“Emily,” Derek supplied. “Is that food?” Piper thrust the bags in front of him.

“Derek, why the flower?” Her voice was dangerously low, and it didn’t take a profiler to notice she was at a breaking point.

“Just ask her,” Derek said, shrugging until he felt Piper pin him into her seat.

“What did Emily tell you about the flower?” Dave watched the spectacle before glancing at Aaron who seemed just as surprised at the encounter.

“Jeez, Bishop. She just said you were mad at her, she wanted to give you the flower, so you’d forgive her. That’s it.” Spencer rose from his seat, reaching an arm out for Piper as she stepped back, but she only slapped it away, lunging for her phone and jamming in a familiar number. She held a hand on the receiver as she glanced up at Penelope.

“I need you to start tracking Emily.”

“Okay, um, I can try using her GPS—”

“Don’t bother, she’ll have turned it off. You need to use the rings.” Penelope nodded immediately as she started typing rapidly on her laptop. Aaron was about to ask what was happened but whoever Piper was trying to reach clearly picked up.

“Hi, I need everything you’ve got on Emily from her Interpol days. Something undercover, something involving um, Sean McAllister and Lauren Reynolds.”

“Bishop, maybe clue us in on what’s going on?” Dave asked.

“Sorry, I should start from the beginning.”

* * *

Everyone was arranged around the conference briefing table while Penelope searched for a signal between Quantico and DC. “For the past month, Emily’s behaviour has been all over the place,” Piper started, her gaze blanketing over the team evenly.

“She told me she hadn’t been sleeping,” Penelope volunteered. “Recurring nightmares.”

“Right. Except it all started when you got that phone call from a Sean McAllister from Paris. We had a case that same day and she’d been biting her nails. That’s when she used this,” Piper said, gesturing to the dahlia on the table. “It’s an old system we had set up. Basically means, trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“So, what, you just didn’t probe further?” Derek asked resentfully, and Piper nodded, glancing at the floor.

“I wish I had, except that’s how it works, and she’s been using the system to get me to back off all month.”

“Okay, so what do you know?”

“Whatever this is, Sean McAllister’s involved. We had another case after, I went to pick her up so we could head to work together. And—And she’d been keeping a watch on the front door.”

“Are you sure?” Aaron asked.

“It’s a trick I used to pull back when I was being stalked. You keep a tripwire against the front door and the windows, and you keep a guard out for any kind of sound.”

“So, she hadn’t been sleeping,” Derek scoffed at that being the only true thing Emily had said in weeks.

“There was this document on her table too. I didn’t catch a glimpse of it, but it looked exactly like Byron Delaney’s. She just said it was a cold case she was working on. Then there was the case in LA. Everyone here has a two-factor verification system. Emily and I are each other’s verifiers.”

“So, every time the alarm goes off—” Spencer said.

“Emily and I both get the text. Except after that case in LA, I didn’t get any more texts. Just one that said the system had been turned off. And when Spencer and I walked into the conference room two weeks ago, she was on the phone with someone.”

“Lauren Reynolds is dead,” Spencer recalled. “But her intonation wasn't surprised or grief. It was like a mantra like she was reminding herself.”

“Exactly. After we came back, she told me that her dahlias were wilting and that she needed to protect its roots.”

“She’s trying to protect us,” Dave surmised.

“But why? We’re her family, we can help,” Spencer asked.

“Doyle's killing families,” Dave countered. “She's not married, not close to relatives. He was ready to wipe us out. She ran to protect us.”

“Okay, I have run a search all throughout D.C. and Virginia. No signal yet.”

“She’s a trained spy and she doesn’t want to be found,” Piper sighed, leaning on the back of a chair, hoping that Emily hadn’t dumped the rings.

“She knows all of our tricks,” Derek announced bitterly. “We don't know any of hers.”

“So, we treat it like a normal case. Doyle is our unsub, Prentiss our victim, what’s the connection?” Aaron asked and Piper’s gaze was caught by a figure outside the window.

“I’m not sure. So, I brought in someone who was,” Piper said, smiling softly at the woman outside, her eyes crinkling fondly as the team followed her gaze at the familiar woman making her way through the bullpen and into the conference room, her blonde curls bouncing as she joined them.

“Let’s get to work,” JJ said, smiling at her old team.

* * *

There was something strangely comforting about the team all present with JJ at the front. “So, I talked to a friend from Langley, he couldn’t Emily's full CIA history, but he could give me this. She assumed the identity of Lauren Reynolds as part of a special task force called JTF-12.”

“I heard about them,” Dave said. “They were profiling terrorists, weren't they?”

“Yeah, assembled after 9/11. CIA and Western agencies contributed their best and brightest.”

“But serial killers and terrorists have different personality traits,” Ashley said.

“That’s why we need the profile that Emily’s team made,” Piper sighed.

“How does Doyle fit in?” Spencer asked.

“He was their last case,” JJ explained. “And now the JTF is on his hit list. Jeremy Wolff was victim number one, from Germany's BND. Sean McAlister at Interpol was the second. He's the one that brought the JTF in to work the Doyle case. He was murdered last week in Brussels with his wife and daughter. Tsia Mosely of France's DCRI. She got engaged to Jeremy earlier this year. After he died, she fled to D.C. And team leader Clyde Easter, British S.I.S. He hasn't checked in since Tsia's murder. He was also in D. C.”

“Did JTF make the arrests?” Aaron asked.

“No, the host countries handled that. The team moved on to the next case.”

“If all they did was deliver a profile, how does Doyle even know about them?”

“Well, considering the shadowy nature of terrorist cells, they utilize a skill we don't... infiltration.”

“And Emily was undercover with Doyle. That’s why this is personal for him,” Piper realised, and Derek turned to glance at her questioningly. “He could’ve killed Emily and me that night outside Delaney’s house. He didn’t.”

“She made contact with him in Boston to get intel on Valhalla,” JJ continued. “She was posing as another weapons dealer.”

“Look at how she's dressed,” Derek murmured, making Dave look over at him. “She seems awfully comfortable.”

“How close did she get to Doyle as part of her cover?” Aaron asked.

“The recon they did on Doyle included a background of all of his romantic relationships. Emily was his type,” JJ said simply. Penelope started running a search on Clyde Easter.

Meanwhile, Dave and Derek left for Emily’s apartment. Derek was silent for the entire drive, focusing on the road to Emily’s apartment. Dave didn’t speak until the duo entered Emily’s apartment using Piper’s spare key. They walked through the house to Emily’s bedroom. “She asked you to stop here yesterday?”

“Yeah. Change her boots and... Get whatever she needed, I guess,” Derek said, glancing around but avoiding eye contact with Rossi.

“It's never easy, you know, having to dig through a friend's life,” Dave said, looking through Emily’s bookshelf. “But that's not what's bugging you, is it? You're angry because she crossed the line with Doyle.” Derek looked over at his shoulder at him.

“I’m angry because two friends lied to me for weeks, both of whom were shot at. They knew exactly what was going on, but neither of them bothered to tell any of us.”

“Bishop didn’t have all the details, just vague messages of doom that she couldn’t put together until you placed that dahlia on her desk,” Rossi defended as he knelt down next to the open safe. “Prentiss couldn’t tell us without putting all of us at risk.”

“Come on, man, we don't know that,” Derek said, gesturing widely. “All we do know is that she slept with a terrorist for a profile. And instead of coming clean with us about her dirty laundry, she just ran with it.”

“You think it’s that simple?” Dave asked, pulling out a document.

“Till there’s a reason not to,” Derek said, shrugging as Dave reached inside to pull out a passport and glanced through it quickly.

“Well, how about this one?” he asked, tossing him the small book before placing the empty envelope on the shelf. “If you’re going to disappear, wouldn’t you take that with you?” Rossi asked, moving to the open bathroom.

“This doesn't mean anything,” Derek said, waving the book at him. “I worked with that woman for 5 years. I put my life in her hands. I called her my friend. But right now, I can't even say that I ever really knew her. Can you?” Dave’s face was unreadable as he met Derek’s firm gaze.

“There’s something down here.” Derek sighed, moving over to glance at the porcelain bowl, his eyes catching the faintest bit of gold.

“Well, I’m not sticking my hand down there,” he scoffed, giving Dave the distasteful job of fishing it out.

Meanwhile, JJ glanced from the board to scan the conference room where all three blondes were working with Hotch and down to the bullpen to Spencer. “I’ll be right back,” she murmured to Hotch distantly before taking the steps down to Spencer working at his desk. “Hey, have you seen Bishop?”

“I don’t know,” he said absently, working through Doyle’s known residences and associated establishments one by one. “Maybe she’s out picking flowers,” he said, uncharacteristically stoic as he worked through it. JJ’s shoulders sagged as she figured out where she must have gone. She made her way to the elevators, letting it take her down to the more social part of the field office. She walked through the hallways, her gaze scanning for the profiler until she heard gunshots from the firing range. Familiar curls greeted her as JJ grabbed a headset and walked in. She waited for Piper to fire 7 consecutive shots into the target before mirroring her as she pulled the headset off.

“I thought you were looking at Doyle’s residences with Reid,” JJ offered.

“He doesn’t need me messing up his process,” Piper deflected. “And I told Hotch I needed to clear my head.” JJ snorted softly. “Besides, you’re back so…everything’ll be fine.”

“And here I thought you were practising putting a bullet in Doyle.” Piper managed a small smile.

“Let’s say I’m multi-tasking,” Piper scoffed, letting the target come closer to see her score. But she couldn’t care less about it. “Should I be mad at Emily?” JJ met her gaze, soft and curious.

“I can’t answer that for you.”

“Derek’s mad. Spencer’s mad. I think Hotch is too, but I can never tell. Penelope’s pretending not to be angry.”

“And you?”

“I want to be. I feel like I should be. She used my trust against me. I trusted that she knows what she’s doing.”

“Trusted?” Piper’s eyes were half-lidded, as though she hadn’t slept in days.

“Emily’s the first person I never had to catch up with,” Piper confessed. “With everyone else, you all knew each other for years. Emily joined a week after I did. So, when it came to trusting someone with my secrets, it was always going to be her.”

“That’s why you set up the system.” Piper nodded.

“I’m trying to be the same person I used to be, but I’m not. Every time I turn around, it’s like I’m losing someone and I—I can’t stomach losing Emily. I can’t lose her, Jayje. Okay, I can bear Spencer not being able to stand the sight of me or Derek never trusting me again. That kind of loss, that’s bearable. But knowing that I can’t…” Piper choked on her word, struggling to hold back tears as JJ pressed a warm hand to her shoulder.

“Emily’s tough. She’s going to take the fight to Doyle and when she does, we are going to fight right by her side,” JJ said, trying to push the message through to her when she noticed Piper’s face slacken.

“Where did you say she met Doyle?”

“Boston to get intel on Valhalla,” JJ answered. “You think she’s going there?”

“That makes sense. That’s why Garcia can’t put her on a map, she’s scanning the wrong state.”

* * *

The team was assembled in the bullpen when JJ and Piper burst through the glass doors simultaneously and Derek stopped the relay of his findings as the two women approached. “How does an arms dealer get in touch with an international terrorist organisation?” JJ asked them.

“Start from the bottom,” Dave supplied confusedly. “Look at domestic groups tied to the IRA.”

“Emily went undercover in Boston to get intel on Valhalla. If Doyle’s back on US soil, he’s going to want a war on his turf.”

“He won’t stay in DC,” Spencer surmised. “He probably has a base somewhere in Boston.”

“I will start scanning for a signal in Boston,” Penelope announced.

“Pack your things,” Aaron ordered them. “I want us to be out of here in 48 hours.” The team nodded, separating to grab the last of their things. Piper bit her lip as Spencer walked past her without a second glance.

“C’mon, let me give you a ride home,” JJ offered, but Piper shook her head.

“Give Will and Henry my love,” Piper said, embracing JJ before following Spencer out, struggling to match his long stride until he finally stopped at the train station. His gaze was completely raw, his eyes red and Piper completely forgot everything she wanted to say to him as she stood in front of him as people milled around.

“Why couldn’t you tell me?” Spencer asked; his voice nothing more than a whisper.

“What would I say?”

“You couldn’t mention that Emily was in danger? That someone was after her?”

“I didn’t know the whole story,” she pleaded with him. “All I knew was she was in trouble.” Spencer shook his head.

“You’re not the only one who cares about Emily.”

“Yeah, but clearly I was the only one she trusted not to tell anyone!” Piper surrendered herself to his anger. “Before this case, I didn’t even know who Ian Doyle was,” she said as they entered the train carriage. “Spence, please, just think about it. If all I had to tell you was that Emily was insanely scared of something that threatened all of us, she would never have told us anything. We’d have less than what we have now.” Spencer snorted.

“Is that why you lied, strategy? Emily’s out there, who knows where, and we have nothing.” Piper leaned back against the seat, her gaze still on Spencer.

“You know, my brother loved doing jigsaw puzzles as a kid,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “One day, I set him a challenge. He had to put the puzzle together without knowing what it was meant to look like.” Piper snorted derisively. “It was this 100-piece puzzle of a park. And he started with the corners and the edges. He managed to put together the frame of the picture together, but it took him hours to complete it. He spent an entire day doing a puzzle that would have usually taken him an hour or two.”

“Did he figure out it was a park?” Piper shook her head.

“He thought it was a cottage. He didn’t realise it was a park until he’d finished at least half of it. Emily did the same thing to me. She told me her symptoms, not the underlying condition.” Piper leaned forward on her elbows, reaching for Spencer’s hand, pressing a soft kiss to it. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. But we had enough on our plate with hunting down Doyle. When she asked me for the bike, she told me she was following up a lead. So, in the end, it doesn’t matter how much or how little she told me. She used my trust.”

“But you’re not mad at her,” Spencer said curiously, his previous anger subsided.

“I can’t be, Spence. I know what she’s thinking. Irene sent me pictures of all of you. Of my family. I know how that panic feels. Obviously, the right thing to do would have been to tell us. But she’s afraid and she’s alone and being mad at her isn’t going to help us find her.” Spencer was silent for a moment, thinking about something as Piper blinked slowly.

“You haven’t slept,” he said quietly, looking up at her softly. “This whole time. I haven’t even seen you take a nap.”

“Neither have you,” Piper retorted, a small smile on her lips as the carriage shook gently on its tracks, eventually lulling them both to sleep, his hand laced into hers.

By the time everyone returned with their things, Penelope had just finished leaving voicemails on each of Emily’s registered cell phones when her search alert resounded in her lair, flashing images of Clyde Easter on each of her screens. She left immediately, telling Hotch that TSA found one of Clyde Easter’s covers in an airport in Boston and that Emily’s signal had her holed up near The Black Shamrock, an Irish inn.

Satisfied that everyone had returned to the field office, he had the jet called in immediately and everyone took their usual spot, leaving one empty. Piper sat cross-legged in her seat, glancing ever so often at the seat next to her which was usually occupied by Emily. Spencer and Morgan were seated in front of her and everyone else chose to stand as Penelope showed them footage from outside the inn. Piper watched stoically as her closest friend burst out of the car with a submachine gun, starting to fire at the second vehicle, breaking one of the windows so she could toss a flashbang grenade inside before kneeling down at the boot and covering her ears. Smoke erupted from the car as Emily rose to her full height, threatening the men in the car with her gun. Penelope shrieked as Ian cropped up behind Emily, shooting two quick consecutive bullets into her chest as she turned around. JJ pressed a hand on Penelope’s shoulder in comfort. “Is she—” Ashley asked

“She’s not stupid enough to walk into a gunfight without a vest,” Piper remarked bitterly. “And Doyle’s a psychopath who’s been torturing her psychologically for a month. I doubt a double-tap to the chest will be enough for him considering what he did to the people who sent him to North Korea.”

“She just threw a grenade into a car. She’s lucky they survived,” Derek pointed out. “Is no-one bothered by this?”

“Well, three bad guys, so…” Dave trailed off.

“Illegal as it may be, Prentiss knows she has to be as ruthless as Doyle,” Aaron contributed.

“He's come to the US to wage a public vendetta and hired a group of mercenaries to remain loyal to him,” Spencer reasoned. “He has nothing to lose, so she has to act the same way.”

“So, how did Doyle know she was waiting for him?” Piper asked.

“Well, the mole must have told him, right? The same guy who's been feeding Doyle the contractors and agents?”

“And our best suspect was just arrested with a suitcase full of cash,” Ashley pointed out. “How do we get Easter to talk? He won't cooperate willingly.”

“I’ll handle that,” Aaron supplied. “The rest of you focus on Doyle's location.”

“I hate to be the one to ask this, but how long does Emily have?” Penelope asked.

“Her best chance is also the most troubling,” Aaron explained, his face still unreadable. “Doyle saved her for last because he views her as his stressor. Which means he'll take his time.”

* * *

Emily lifted her head, gently shaking it so her hair fell away from her face. Her ribs hurt from the bruising, but she forced herself awake, remembering Penelope’s voicemail. She forced herself to remember her voice, her plea for her to stay alive, her insistence that Emily wasn’t alone, that they were coming and that she had to…

“Stay alive,” she murmured to herself softly. “Stay alive.” But her heart started racing as a familiar warmth caressed her neck. She whimpered at the feel of his fingertips against her skin, familiar and dangerous.

“Where’s my ring?”

“I flushed it,” she answered, eliciting a wry chuckle from Doyle.

“I spent 7 years in hell because of that ring,” he said, his hand sliding down to the top of her dark button down. Emily winced, closing her eyes as Ian started unbuttoning the top 4 buttons, tantalisingly slow, just like his Irish drawn. “So, now, I’m going to give you another gift.” She tried to control her desperately rising heartbeat as he stopped halfway down, exposing her dark blue bra, sweat glistening on her collarbone. “A four-leaf clover should be a nice addition to your other tattoos.” He wheeled over a device within her sight. “You still have two, right?”

“Yep, and that’s enough ink, thanks,” Emily spoke, trying to remain calm as her gaze shifted rapidly from the machine to Doyle’s chuckle.

“Ink?” He flipped a switch on the machine, the small icon bright red. “North Koreans can’t afford ink. No, no, they brand themselves.” Emily felt her heart leap into her throat, her mouth dry. She watched the icon turn green and Ian gripped the pen between his fingers and Emily protested as he approached, grimacing as the pen hovered right above her breast. “The more you resist,” he murmured softly against her ear. “The more it’ll hurt.” The pen crackled as it touched her ivory skin and Emily held in no qualms about screaming, gasping at the pain.

* * *

Piper and JJ started going through each of Emily’s former team members, going through finances and assets, looking up only when a man entered, pulled along by Boston PD and David Rossi. He identified the man as Jack Fahey, part of the Irish mob who had called Clyde Easter 12 times in the past 6 hours. Rossi beckoned Reid to help him interrogate the man. Wherever Emily was, she no longer had a signal since she left The Black Shamrock. They just prayed they could find her in time.

* * *

“Why are you doing this?” Emily asked Ian, weariness in her voice as he buttoned up her shirt. “Why are you keeping me alive?” If Ian deigned to respond, he was interrupted by Liam.

“Hey. FBI grabbed Fahey. Her people. It won't be long before he starts squealing and they're banging on our door.” Liam handed Ian his gun. “Do what you have to, so we get the hell out of here.”

“I know what you want,” Emily interrupted before he could take the handle.

“Do you, really?” Ian asked her.

“You want Lauren Reynolds back. I can do that,” she offered. “I can be her.”

“You think that'll save your skin?”

“I have no illusions,” Emily said. “But I'm tired of this. Of being afraid.”

“We don't have time for this,” Liam interrupted.

“We'll make time,” Ian replied, his gaze unmoving from Emily’s.

“What about Fahey?”

“I'll take care of Fahey. He smokes, right?”

“Aye.”

“Looks like you earned yourself a reprieve,” Ian said, smiling at her coldly.

* * *

Aaron held up a file containing a letter of recommendation Clyde had written. “October 2006. In closing, I have never worked with a finer agent than Emily Prentiss. Her skill at analysing and predicting terrorist behaviour is unparalleled. Signed, name redacted.” Aaron closed the file, passing it to Piper. “You used all the right buzzwords, told us everything we wanted to hear. You sold her to us the same way you sold Doyle to the North Koreans.”

“Just because you know how I profile doesn't mean you know me,” Clyde shot back.

“Clearly, neither did your team,” Piper retorted.

“It takes a skilled sociopath to betray his team and the cause he held dear for self-preservation,” Aaron declared, stepping to him. “If you cooperate with us and we save Agent Prentiss, then maybe we could talk about a deal. But if anything happens to her, I will destroy you. You can count on that,” Aaron promised him, and Clyde met his gaze evenly.

“She said you were the best. I'm unimpressed,” he remarked smugly.

“We’ll get Doyle with or without you. Pack lightly. Guantanamo gets humid,” Aaron retorted without emotion before moving to leave him until Clyde started chuckling.

“Nice try. Oh, but... but I'm curious... If I'm a sociopath, I should feel no empathy, correct?” Clyde asked good-humouredly, gesturing with his arm.

“You're not the sociopath,” Aaron remarked, wrinkling his forehead as Piper smirked. “Doyle is. I thought you were a better profiler.” Piper watched him leave, feeling Clyde’s gaze on her.

“Now, you, Prentiss hasn’t said a word about you,” Clyde said, smiling. Piper snorted softly.

“You still think this is a game,” Piper said, placing a series of photographs on the table. “That’s Jeremy Wolff, he was poisoned in Paris. Then Sean McAllister and his entire family are murdered in Brussels. That’s when you, Tsia and Emily started working together again. Except Emily’s not really working with you because she has to be present at her job, so really, it’s just you and Tsia. But then Tsia leaves you, presumably because Emily believes you’re the mole. She follows Em’s advice and ends up with a bullet in her head. Then we find out that Doyle’s US base is in Boston and you’re headed there at the same time with a bag full of cash.”

“Hell of a coincidence.”

“The universe is rarely so lazy.” Piper leaned back in her chair. “Emily trusted you. She doesn’t do that very often. And if I were in your shoes, I’d want to put Doyle’s head on a pike. Can’t do that in here.”

“You’re not under oath,” Clyde replied.

“I don’t give a damn about my oath,” Piper retorted. “The only thing that matters is saving Emily.” Clyde flashed her a satisfied smirk before leaning in.

* * *

Rossi and Reid surveyed Jack Fahey, tilting their head at the bandage around his ear. “Why were you calling Clyde Easter so much, Jack?” Dave asked.

“Anybody got a smoke?” Jack asked, his Irish and Boston accents melding together. “How about you, beanpole?” Spencer glanced behind him for a split second, until he realised that he was the beanpole.

“What do you think?” Dave asked him.

“Narcissism masking deep-seated insecurity,” Spencer relayed to him.

“So, if we puncture his self-image, this hood rat will talk.”

“Hey, hey, hey, I ain't no hood rat,” Fahey exclaimed. “You take that back.”

“Well, you look like one,” Dave said, stepping towards him. “You smell like one. You smell that?” Spencer took two quick sniffs.

“Hoodrat,” he confirmed.

“I am not!” Jack protested. “Take it back!”

“Hey, Jack,” Dave said gently, taking a seat on the table. “Do you know what a hood rat is?” The man was speechless. “See what I mean? He's just gonna have to learn the hard way.”

“Alright, alright, look, Clyde was gonna pay my medical bills, all right? This ear, it ain't growing back.”

“What happened to it?” Spencer asked.

“This bitch teammate of his shot it,” Jack said. “Said it was a warning. Thought she could take on this IRA big shot named Doyle. So, I told these...” Dave leaned over, squeezing at his ear. “Aah! What the hell, man?! Jeez!” Jack pulled away, rubbing his ear gently.

“Where’s Prentiss?”

“Who? I don’t know!”

“Where’s Lauren Reynolds?” Spencer urged, and Jack’s pained expression turned perplexed and finally into satisfaction.

“Oh. Friend of yours, is she?”

“You tell us where she is right now, or I swear, I'll send you to a prison where they'll teach you what a hood rat is,” Rossi threatened him.

“And by the time you do, she'll be in pieces. So, uh... My price just went up,” Jack said smugly.

* * *

Ian took a seat in front on Emily, gazing at her fondly. “And what is it you do... Lauren?”

“I'm looking to get into business with a former IRA Captain who's gone freelance,” Emily said, falling into her old persona. “Valhalla. But since this is sensitive...” Emily switched to French. « Il serait peut-être préférable d’en discuter en privé. »

« Tu es plein de surprise, dit-on? » Emily chuckled.

« A leve-moi sur chaines. »

“That's not how it went.”

« Je ne peux pas te donner de plaisirs avec des menottes, » Emily pleaded, watching Ian rise from his chair and walk around out of her sight line. She felt his hand sweep at the hair by her neck and she waited for it to start, only for him to push her shoulder blades in, eliciting a painful gasp.

“You really think I'd let you fool me twice?” Ian seethed in her ear.

“I just wanted—”

“I know what you wanted... A way into my head. But I changed the locks. So, you're going to suffer the way I suffered. This won't be the first time you've killed an innocent, but it will be the first time you have to watch.” He rose to his full height, his grip loosening as he called for Liam.

* * *

While Piper urged JJ to look into Jeremy Wolff’s background and assets, Dave, Jack and Ashley stood on the roof of the building, letting the nicotine addict have a smoke. “You know when a cigarette is best?” Jack asked Ashley. “After sex with me.” David lunged at him.

“Mind your manners!” Jack reeled back, one hand protecting his injured ear. “You're already extorting us for Prentiss' location.”

“So, just out of curiosity, what's it like working for Doyle?” Ashley asked, playing into Jack’s narcissism.

“Eh, he's not so tough,” Jack shrugged. Meanwhile, Liam had his sniper in position to take out all three of them, presenting Emily with a choice. Dave, Ashley or Jack.

“Wow. I bet you're his hook-up, aren't you? I mean, after all, you're the man.”

“I could show you how much of a man I really am.” Dave stepped forward. “All right, all right, all right, jeez. What's with the sexy cop/ bad cop routine? What do you two think—” But they never heard it as the two agents flinched, a single bullet sinking into Fahey’s chest. Ashley barely heard Dave yell at her to get down, freezing up in shock so that Dave had to tuck her into his chest as another bullet ripped through Jack’s chest.

* * *

“So, we know Jeremy and Tsia got engaged,” Piper said, glancing at the estate documents. “But the apartment they were living in was in the name of one of Tsia’s covers. Have we tried running through all of Jeremy’s covers?”

“Yeah, I’m on the last one now,” Penelope provided. “Luc Renault signed a document for a large estate in Spain.” JJ glanced at her tablet in front of her, skimming through the document while Spencer and Derek popped their dinner on the table.

“Made a down payment in cash, deposited the rest,” JJ said.

“So, Jeremy sold the list to Doyle,” Aaron surmised as he joined them.

“Yeah, the thing about double agents is that you never really know if they’re on your side or not,” Piper scoffed, pulling at one of the bags and passing a tuna salad to Penelope.

“If Jeremy was just in it for the money, he might just as easily sell the intel that Doyle had broken out,” Spencer said as he took a seat next to Piper.

“He was the first victim, killed quietly,” JJ emphasised. “Doyle didn't want any attention until he was ready.”

“Did Tsia know?” Aaron asked.

“If she did, there’s no sign of it,” Piper sighed.

“If I were running from a terrorist, I would cash in my IRA,” Penelope said. “Not that one. The other... you know what I mean. My point is, Tsia didn't touch that money, so I don't think she's in on it.”

“But Clyde wouldn’t know that,” Derek pointed out. “If he suspected that Jeremy was the mole, he would have suspected Tsia too.”

“Prentiss read the doubt as duplicity, told Tsia to run and broke off contact with Clyde,” Aaron summed up. “Did Clyde give you anything useful?”

“I dunno, does Doyle’s original profile as a terrorist sound useful enough?” Piper grinned, picking up her notepad. “Ian Doyle’s a power-assertive psychopath, highly controlling and very explosive when something doesn't go as planned. He’s organised, plans everything to the last detail and incredibly driven. He carries out murders with surgical-like precision, leaving behind no collateral damage.”

“That’s what’s changed,” Derek identified. “His murders are personally driven.”

“That fits,” JJ said. “His crimes aren’t political anymore.”

“Perhaps this child was a surrogate for one he had,” Spencer proposed, pushing forward the picture of the dead child.

“Doyle was an orphan and he never married or claimed to have a child,” Penelope pointed out.

“Even if he had a child, Doyle would never admit to it,” Piper countered between bites. “Look at the original profile. Power-assertive psychopaths don’t allow for a single weakness. He’s a terrorist, he can’t allow for someone to hold that power over him.”

“But if Emily found out and thought the child was in danger…” JJ trailed off.

“She would protect it as best she could,” Piper finished.

“You know, if Doyle did have a kid, he most likely hid him in plain sight,” Derek remarked. “Who was in the compound the day he was arrested?”

“Just his staff,” Spencer recalled.

“All of them were Irish,” Penelope said slowly. “That might just narrow it down.”

* * *

Emily awoke to the sound of footsteps. It was always dark in this warehouse and she’d already lost track of how long she’d been here. “When Fahey told me, you were in the city, he said you already knew where I was. If that's the truth, you know what this is about.” Ian pulled out his revolver, resting the barrel right above Emily’s ear. “Game’s over love. Time for your last confession.”

“Take me to where he died,” Emily asked him, knowing that would be her only chance of making it out of here. “I want to see it.”

* * *

“I got him,” Penelope said, more in surprise than anything else. “I-I found him. I matched Irish immigration records based on Doyle's employees. Declan Jones, he's the only boy who matches. He settled in Boston 8 years ago, adoptive guardian Louise Jones.”

“I knew Louise Jones,” Clyde said, free of his stint in a cell as Aaron brought him in to help. “She was Doyle's housekeeper.”

“Are they still alive?” Aaron asked her.

“Declan and his mother went missing 7 years ago. Bodies were never found. God, someone took pictures of them being shot.”

“Is there an address?”

“That looks like a warehouse. It's gotta be big enough to house a small army. That's weapons, supplies. Let's see... which means it has its own perimeter. I got it, 1518 Adams Street.”

“Let’s get a tactical division in as soon as possible,” Aaron said, breaking away from the group while Penelope called in the others.

* * *

Ian was dragging Emily through corridors, her shoes scuffed by the concrete basement floors. For 2 years, I didn't talk,” he hissed at her. “The North Koreans used everything you gave them against me. It wasn't until they showed me these...” he said, whipping out the photographs. “They laughed at me as I wept. And you caused all of this, didn't you?”

“Yes, I did,” she confessed.

“That corner right there, that's where he died,” Ian pointed out, shoving Emily into the wall and she grunted as her body slammed against brick. “And that's where I'm going to kill you,” he said, cocking his gun at her.

“There's something you don't know about those photos,” Emily said, gasping for breath. “After your arrest, I relocated Louise and Declan. And then I got a call. Interpol had sent back our profile. The head of the terrorism division wanted more dirt on you so they could break you.”

“So, you used my son as a promotion.”

“No. I wouldn't let him be a pawn. The things they would have done to him to get you to talk... But I knew, even if I didn't cooperate, they were going to find him eventually. So, I had to—”

“Had to what?” Ian yelled at her.

“I had to end his suffering before it could begin,” she confessed and Ian slammed his fist into Emily’s face, landing with a sickening echo. He pulled her up by the collar, pushing her against the wall.

“What did you do?” he seethed as Emily groaned in pain. “You put him in the profile. What else did you do?”

“I put him in the profile after the pictures were taken,” Emily grunted.

“You don't know when those pictures were taken. You don't know—" Ian insisted.

“Yes, I do,” Emily retorted, pushing through the grinding pain. “I'm the one holding the gun.” Yelling, Ian pulled Emily away from the wall, slamming her against shelves full of expired cleaning products, before shoving her to the floor. “You wanna hear his last words to me?” Emily asked and Ian aimed a kick to her stomach. “He said, I looked pretty good for a dead kid, didn’t I? And then he got on the plane and I never saw him again.”

“He’s alive?” Ian yelled, kicking her again.

“Just because I held a gun to him doesn't mean I shot him,” Emily explained, groaning in pain. “I only had to make you and the North Koreans believe he was dead.” Ian lifted Emily back up by her shoulders, flinging her against a metal section of the wall. Emily wanted to hurl and curl up into a ball and never wake up. But she had to fight.

* * *

“Emily Prentiss is the only friendly in the building. Rescuing her is our primary objective,” Aaron directed the tactical team.

“Our only advantage here is stealth,” Derek provided. “Once they know we're on site, there's nothing to stop them from killing her. So, we keep it quiet until we get to her.” The briefing finished; the team partnered up with their section of the tactical units. Dave was with Aaron. Spencer would stay behind with Ashley and Penelope. Piper was with Derek. Piper glanced over at Derek as he stoically drove the car to the warehouse.

“I’m sorry,” Piper confessed, and Derek glanced over at her. “I know this isn’t the time, but it kinda feels like we’re driving into hell, so…I just needed you to know that.”

“I just wish you’d have trusted me.”

“I do. Trust you, that is. With my life. Out there, you’ve always had my back, and I intend to have yours. If you’ll let me.” Derek glanced over at her, the ghost of his old self back. They pulled over, immediately unlatching their seatbelts and ducking behind the car, using it as cover. Derek glanced over his shoulder at Piper and their tactical unit following them behind.

“Let the snipers take out the front, then we breach.”

“Doyle will have kept her in the basement,” Piper whispered, keeping her glance on the two foot-soldiers out the front. “Killing her where his son died.” Derek nodded and promptly saw the sentry men fall over.

“Breaching Valhalla,” Derek whispered into his mic, gesturing with his hand to guide the group in.

* * *

“You’re lying,” Ian hissed, pressing Emily into the wall. He tried to pull out his gun but Emily shoved her elbow into his abdomen, making him drop the revolver, using her cuffs as a loop to grip him in a chokehold while Derek’s unit made their way in, firing no more than two shots per soldier.

“I beat you, Ian,” Emily grimaced as Ian groaned. “Before you even got out of North Korea. I beat you. Because I gave Declan his life back.”

“I’ll find him,” Ian managed.

“No, you won't. Ever since you told me my people had Fahey, I've been stalling you.” Abruptly, the lights went out and Doyle used it to his advantage, lunging up and running backwards so Emily slammed into a wall. In the darkness, they stumbled, clawing and scratching until Emily’s hand gripped around a broken table leg. Grunting, Emily whipped the sharp edge across Ian’s face, slicing through his cheek and breaking his nose. With one final whip, the leg fell from her hands and Ian grabbed it, sticking the point though Emily’s stomach. Groaning, Emily stumbled back and down to the floor.

“Where is he? Where's Declan, Emily? Tell me. Where is he? Emily, tell me where he is.”

“No,” she said softly, finally letting her body rest. Outside the basement door, Piper and Derek pumped 4 collective shots into the guard, but his trigger finger pressed, launching 12 bullets into the floor from his submachine gun, warning Ian to their arrival. Derek kicked down the door and Piper yelled into her mic, collapsing to her knees next to Emily.

“I need a medic in the basement, south side, immediately. I’ve got an impaled abdomen. Repeat, I need a medic in the south basement.” Piper gripped Emily’s hands while Derek and the unit investigated Doyle’s exit strategy. “It’s okay, can you breathe for me? Deep breaths, sweetheart.” Emily wheezed softly. “That’s it. Just pretend it’s a really big splinter.” Emily snorted and fat tears welled up in her eyes.

“The blue dahlia. It’s blooming,” Emily whispered. “In a cul-de-sac. Find Tom Koehler. Tell him I sent you.”

“Em, no, please, don’t do this.”

“I need you to take care of him. Whatever you have to do. Promise me,” she whimpered as Derek returned.

“I promise,” Piper said, breaking into tears and pressing a kiss to Emily’s hands.

“Derek,” Emily sighed.

“Hey, it's me, I'm right here,” Derek said. “You're gonna be all right.”

“Where the hell is my medic?” Piper yelled into the mic.

“Stay with me, baby,” Derek begged her. “Come on, stay with me.”

“Let me go,” Emily whispered, feeling the last of her strength sap away, tears tracing down to her ear.

“No, no. I am not letting you go,” Derek insisted as Piper left the room to yell for help. “I'm so proud of you. Do you understand that? I am proud of you because you are my friend, and you are my partner.” Emily’s eyes started to close as she started to let the darkness in. “No, Emily!” Derek called out and Piper was yelling until her voice turned hoarse. “Come on, stay with me. If you can hear me, please just squeeze my hand.” He felt her soft squeeze. “Yes, there you go. There you go, baby. Just keep squeezing.”

“They’re here!” Piper called out, partly in relief.

“You hear that, Em? You’re gonna be okay,” Derek promised, and he stayed with her, squeezing hands until he got to the ambulance and JJ volunteered to go with her. Both Piper and Derek weren’t stable enough to drive and Aaron offered to drive Derek while Dave guided a frozen Piper to his car. It wasn’t until the door shut behind her that Piper broke down and Dave wrapped his arms around her, assuring her that this wasn’t her fault.

* * *

Spencer was pacing while Ashley hugged her knees in her seat. Piper sat cross-legged in her seat, a cup of tea in her hand that she had no intention to drink. Penelope sat patiently next to Derek who just had his head in his hands. Aaron sat leaning on his elbows, his face as always, unreadable. Until finally, JJ emerged from the emergency room, her eyes bright and glittering with tears. Penelope had already read the distraught expression and felt damp tears slip down her cheeks. Spencer whispered a ‘no’ and Piper just froze. “She never made it off the table.” JJ stepped over to Piper who hadn’t let a single tear spill since she arrived at the lounge. But as JJ deposited the three silver rings in Piper’s palm, the dam broke, tears flooding down her cheeks while Spencer rose, leaving for the nearest exit. JJ stopped him; one hand gentle against his chest. “Spence…”

“I never got to say goodbye.” That was what finally broke Dave, a single drop trailing down his cheek as JJ pressed Spencer into a hug. Penelope sobbed in her seat next to Derek and he pulled her into a hug while Spencer tucked his chin over JJ’s shoulder as she watched Aaron Hotchner stalk away from the grieving group. JJ waited for him to pull away when he was ready before joining Hotch in the other room, fully aware of what was happening above their ceiling while 6 other agents shared a pool of tears, grieving the loss of a friend.


	7. Epilogue

**In the Jet**

Piper was curled up in the back of the silent jet. Spencer was trying to read the same page for the last 3 minutes on the couch near her. Derek couldn’t bring himself to listen to music, eventually getting up and moving to take a seat in front of Piper. “What did you promise Emily?” Everyone’s gaze turned to their conversation, except Piper’s. She was focused on the clouds, her feet tucked into her seat.

“That I would take care of everything.”

“What exactly does that mean?” Derek asked.

“It means the funeral, the headstone, the eulogy, all of it.”

“Piper,” Derek said, his voice dangerously low. “You don’t have to—”

“I promised. That still means something. That has to mean something,” Piper whispered. Derek nodded, leaning back into his chair.

Penelope was cradled into a hug by JJ, one she hadn’t let go for the entire flight. Hotch seemed to be compartmentalising Emily’s loss while Dave sat silently supporting Seaver across them.

**That Night**

Derek offered Spencer a ride home, but Spencer chose to take the Metro, the 45-minute ride to his place worth it as the steady rhythm of the carriage cleared his head. Here, surrounded by strangers, Spencer could deal with his emotions mentally. How was he supposed to deal with this? Of course, he’s read books on it. But it wasn’t supposed to happen like that. Emily wasn’t supposed to die in a ratty basement in Boston. Usually, he would have called his girlfriend, but in her state, she probably wasn’t up for that conversation. He knew how the others processed their emotions. Penelope surrounded herself with good ‘vibes’ from plush toys to neon nesting dolls. Derek worked out his emotions on a punching bag or at a baseball pitch. JJ surrounded herself with people, her son and her partner, as did Hotch. Rossi probably toasted a glass of whiskey to Emily’s memory. But what was he supposed to do? Lock himself into a room and cry. Then again, it’s what he wanted to do. Eventually, the carriage stopped at Van Ness station and Spencer rose from his seat, following the crowd up the steps before making his way up the steps to his apartment. Spencer pulled out his key, about to push it into the door handle before he realised what he really wanted to do.

Piper strummed the strings to her guitar softly. It was an old song; one she knew like the back of her hand. She heard the door unlock softly and a tall, mop-headed mess walked into her apartment, closing the door behind her. She started picking at the strings, the same pattern as her chords. _“Another head hangs lowly, child is slowly taken. And the violence caused such silence, who are we mistaking?”_ She switched back to playing chords as Spencer slunk into a seat, listening to her play. _“But you see, it’s not me, it’s not my family, in your head, in your head, they’re fighting. With their tanks and their bombs and their bombs and their bombs and their guns, in your head, in your head, they’re crying,”_ she sang, her voice soft like her strums until Spencer was crying and Piper abandoned her strums as Spencer collapsed into her warmth. She pressed soft kisses onto his forehead, tucking him into her embrace as they sat on the sofa, deciding non-verbally, that they would take a day off tomorrow.

**The Next Morning**

Both of them had called it in last night to Hotch and he’d agreed, telling them to take all the time they needed. For once, Spencer’s eyes fluttered awake in the glimmering sunlight next to a sleeping Piper. He wasn’t sure when they’d both fallen asleep, or how much sleep they’d gotten that week. Piper was just wearing one of her academy tank-tops, her shoulders bare against the soft morning light. He was careful to take in that imagined moment of peace, where Emily hadn’t died, where her closest friend was still alive. It would shatter the moment she woke up. So, as she grumbled slowly in her sleep, Spencer wrapped an arm around her waist, pressing slow, soft kisses trailing from her forehead to her shoulder. Piper shifted sleepily, moving a hand to run through her hair and Spencer’s soft snort woke her up. Piper sniffed, narrowing her half-lidded eyes to see Spencer clearly. “Am I dreaming?” she slurred, blinking slowly. “Because you’re awake before me.”

“I wish you were,” Spencer said, his voice small as he tucked a strand of Piper’s hair behind her ear. Piper hummed, remembering everything.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured against his chest and they lay there for most of the morning until they found the energy to clean up and have breakfast. The house was mostly silent as they tried to achieve some semblance of their usual life. But as Spencer tried teaching Piper new languages or as Piper tried teaching Spencer new songs or even as they just walked around the block in the soft evening light, something had significantly changed.

**2 Days Later**

Piper let herself into Emily’s dark apartment, a soft yowl greeting her presence. Sergio circled Piper’s feet and she picked him up. “Hey buddy,” Piper whispered, rubbing his fur until he jumped off and onto the ground. “Figures. Mommy’s boy,” Piper grumbled, flicking the lights on. She pulled her cross-body bag off her shoulders, hanging it on one of Emily’s racks before walking through the apartment. She had a promise to keep and JJ had told her that all of Emily’s things would be returned to her residence before it would be registered and put away as evidence. She only had one chance to get this right. Empty boxes filled Emily’s bedroom as arranged by Anderson and while JJ and Hotch were more than ready to do this work, Piper needed to do what she could to help her closest friend posthumously. Her therapist had agreed too, Piper noted with a small snort. That it would help her heal. She dragged one empty box to the bookshelf, slowly taking them down one by one and placing them neatly in the box. Emily’s extensive Kurt Vonnegut collection was there too, something Derek would probably appreciate. Within the hour, her bookshelf was empty, the box taped up and labelled. Piper bent down to the open safe, feeling around for whatever was left. A cell phone was taped to the very back wall of the safe and Piper lifted it free. It was Emily’s old flip-phone from 2009. Moving to Emily’s bedside table, she plugged the phone into the wall socket as it turned on. Sighing, Piper moved to the shoe closet, starting to pack them into their boxes, which Emily kept for some reason, and place it into the larger box when the cell rang. But it wasn’t her phone, and it couldn’t be Emily’s current phone. She moved into the bedroom, picking up the cell to answer it. _“Ah, Dr Bishop.”_

“Clyde?” Piper wrinkled her forehead. “What are you—How’d you get this number?”

_“Emily kept it for her old contacts. When it turned on, I knew it had to be you. Well, you or the less attractive, old guy.”_

“What can I do for you?”

 _“I’d say it’s a question of what I can do for you.”_ Piper collapsed on the bed, listening dutifully to Clyde’s instructions and when he was done, abruptly hung up. A single tear rolled down her cheek and Piper steeled herself, wiping the disgraceful tear away. She spent the night packing boxes away, taking moments to breathe when it got too hard. The kitchen was practically empty, save for a few beers and bottles of tomato sauce in the fridge and cat food in the cabinets. Satisfied that everything was put away, Piper whistled for Sergio, asking him to go into the cat carrier. “You’re gonna love Aunt Penny.” Sergio yowled. “Manners,” she scolded him. “You’re going to be a very good boy for Penny.” With the last of Emily’s things packed, Piper grabbed her bag and keys before skipping down the staircase to her bike. Emily had left it at the airport before using an old cover to go to Boston. She strapped Sergio’s case to the bike before pulling off her helmet, riding to Penelope’s place.

Evidently, she had no intention to sleep tonight as she knocked on Penelope’s door. When the door opened, it revealed Penelope with a glass of wine in her nightgown. “Oh my god, Pipes? What are you—”

“Sergio needs a good home,” Piper said, sadly. “I know it’s last minute and it’s super early, I just—I didn’t like the idea of him being alone…” she trailed off.

“Yes, oh, of course, I’ll take him. But don’t you want him?”

“I’m more of a dog person,” Piper said lamely. “Oh, I-I found some food Em—she had.” She withdrew a bag as Penelope let Sergio out of the carrier and into the house.

“Do you wanna stay? Have a glass with me.”

“I um, I’d rather be alone right now.” Piper felt Penelope’s gaze bore into her. “I’m gonna go. I should—yeah, bye.” Piper whirled around on her heel and heard the door close behind her as she walked away.

**The First Day Back**

Piper still wasn’t sure if she wanted to go to work at all. Derek had only taken one day off before pushing back into his stride. Dave seemed to have recovered too, coming to work even though it was just casual days. Spencer had taken more days away before he came to terms with the idea that Emily would want him to keep going, even though Piper could tell his headaches were getting worse. Ashley was focusing fully on her training, trying to be the agent Emily thought she could be. Penelope hadn’t taken any days off at all, just like Hotch, which was the most worrying. At this point, Piper was the only one who was left. It wasn’t as though she didn’t want to. She wanted to get back into her stride, into the brilliant, slightly silly, consultant/agent/expert that she used to be. But somehow, Emily’s presence had become an intrinsic part of her. But she’d made a promise, one she planned to keep. Clyde’s instructions had been fairly simple, but they threatened to shake the small foothold she had wedged into the world of profiling and criminology. He had done his part, all she had to do was show up. So, she walked into work that morning, her head low, clutching an iced latte as she made her way to her desk, trying to ignore the empty desk across from Spencer. She had barely sat down when Hotch came out of his office, calling her inside. Spencer glanced between them worriedly, but Piper flashed him a comforting smile, squeezing his shoulder before she made her way up the catwalk. As soon as Piper disappeared behind the door, Spencer started dialling Derek’s direct line. Within minutes, he saw Derek pacing out of his office across to Rossi’s on the other side, knocking gently as Spencer dialled Penelope.

Piper sat demurely in her seat, rubbing her hands as Erin and Aaron debated her fate. “While I admit, Dr Bishop omitted certain truths from the team, surely it’s not worth terminating her position.”

“Except that the omission of truth whether directly or indirectly, influenced Agent Prentiss’s death.”

“This is my team, Chief Strauss. You’ve already transferred one of my agents to the state department. By terminating another, you risk pulling apart an already effective team.”

“Except we weren’t, Hotch,” Piper voiced softly. “Chief Strauss is right. I was emotionally compromised and that’s why we’ve lost another agent.” Aaron was silenced by her admission of guilt, unable to breathe while Erin did.

“I’m aware this is a difficult situation,” Erin offered. “I may have a solution for it.”

* * *

“What do you think is happening in there?” Penelope asked, worry rising in her voice. “Spencer, you must know something.”

“I don’t know anything. As soon as she walked in, Hotch came out and asked her up.”

“Rossi, you know Strauss best,” Derek pointed out. “What do you think she’s doing?”

“She doesn’t appreciate being lied to or made a fool of,” Dave sighed. “She’s quick to bend over political pressure. Someone higher up obviously wants an example to be made of.”

“Of Piper?” Penelope asked in outrage. “That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s politics.”

“We’ve just successively lost 3 of our agents,” Derek said bitterly. “We’re just supposed to function as normal?”

“You don’t know that yet,” Spencer tried, and Strauss walked out, followed by Aaron and Piper.

“Briefing room,” Hotch announced as Piper made her way across the catwalk and Penelope, Derek, Rossi and Reid all stood up, rushing to the briefing room. “Dr Bishop had been asked to make a decision.”

“More like a diktat,” Piper scoffed in her seat. “Either I transfer to the San Francisco Field Office or I have my position terminated.”

“Hold on, she can’t do that, can she?” Penelope protested.

“It worked with JJ, didn’t it?” Derek disparaged.

“What does she want you to do?” Spencer asked.

“She’s offering me a job as a victim’s specialist,” Piper said quietly.

“And you can’t do that in DC?” Rossi challenged.

“There isn’t a job opening in DC,” Aaron said. “Trust me, I’m going to do everything in my power to—”

“Stop,” Piper said. “Just—Everyone, just stop.” Piper stood from her seat. “Look, I love working here, with all of you. And you’re my family. But Strauss is right. What I did, it got Emily killed and I am going to spend the rest of my life making that up to her.” Penelope looked as though she were going to cry again. “And Strauss is giving me till the funeral next weekend.”

“What—That’s it?” Spencer asked.

“Yeah, that’s it. And maybe when this whole thing blows over, I’ll put in a transfer back to DC.”

“Which will be approved immediately,” Hotch assured her. Piper nodded, pursing her lips. Penelope waddled over to give Piper a big hug and for once, the woman didn’t protest, accepting all of Garcia’s goodwill. Derek was next, giving her a bear hug and warning her to stay in touch. Rossi pressed a kiss to both her cheeks before engulfing her in a hug, his Italian cologne drowning her. Finally, Piper pressed a soft kiss to Spencer’s cheek as she hugged him, promising him dinner later before leaving with Hotch who offered to walk her down to Strauss’s cabin. “JJ’s still more than willing to help with the funeral,” Hotch said quietly.

“I know. I want to do it,” Piper said honestly.

“Have you thought about what to put on the headstone?” Piper turned to the large seal on the glass doors.

“Yeah, yeah, I have.” Aaron followed her gaze to the white seal embellished onto the glass doors.

**The Funeral**

Derek and Aaron offered to pick everyone up. So, JJ and Rossi piled into Aaron’s car while Penelope, Piper and Spencer piled into Derek’s before the two cars met at Arlington. Piper had walked through here at least 6 times to figure out the perfect place for her headstone until one day she stayed too long and saw the sunset. That was the last time she walked through the graveyard. She felt Spencer grasp her finger as the group’s gaze fell on the coffin, white dahlias gracing the top with a lacy white ribbon. He only let go of her hand to help Derek, Dave and Aaron carry the coffin to the headstone. It was a small affair. Clyde had contacted any friends she had at Interpol, Piper had contacted family members, some of which didn’t deign to come. But Emily would have only wanted a small funeral.

They watched solemnly as Piper took to the front, standing to address the small crowd. Her eyes were full, brimming with tears, anger and pain. “I um, I want to thank everyone for coming today. To um, to celebrate the life Emily led. Emily was the closest friend I ever had.” She let out a watery chuckle. “No-one else ever knew me the way she did. She liked to say that um, that we were best friends because no-one else would put up with her shenanigans. I loved her like a sister. I always will.” A single tear slipped from her cheek. “She died the way she lived. Protecting others. And…” Piper choked up, her voice breaking. “And I’m going to miss her so much. Her smile. Her wit and her grace. Her courage and her fortitude.” Aaron glanced over at JJ as Piper finished her speech to place a single red rose on the coffin.

Derek glanced up to the headstone for the first time, the engraved words leaping out at him. _Fidelity. Bravery. Integrity._

**Moving Mountains**

Spencer watched Piper above the book he was pretending to read, unable to help the profiler in him as she flitted around her apartment. Her closet was empty, and suitcases lined the hallway. The field office had organised a place for her to stay in until she found a more permanent residence. The multiple bookshelves lining the walls were empty too. She kept one large bookshelf in the living room and a small one in her bedroom. “You don’t have to go,” Spencer said softly as she sat down next to him. He loved working with her, but he loved coming home to her more.

“It’s a decent job, Spence, and I won’t be able to come back at all if Strauss fires me,” Piper pleaded with him, uncomfortable as she lied to him.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed, running his hands through his hair. Piper chuckled at the gesture he’d inherited from her. Gently, she plucked the book from his hands that he clearly wasn’t reading before kissing him slowly. His hands tugged at her waist, pulling her close until he accidentally crashed his nose against hers. She giggled softly, settling into a soft smile as he took her glasses off, placing them gently on the coffee table.

“Just do me a favour,” Piper asked, and Spencer glanced at her with furrowed eyebrows.

“Anything.”

“Just—take care of yourself,” Piper pleaded, a hand brushing at his ear, fingers tangling in his short, messy hair. Spencer’s amber eyes gazed into her deep browns. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.” He filed away this moment between them, the clear reluctance in her eyes of leaving. Neither of them wanted something as insignificant as distance to tear them apart, so he closed the distance instead, capturing her lips in a slow, sweet kiss, never wanting to part from the feel of her touch, her lips tasting of peach chapstick, the back of her earring grazing against his fingers.

“I promise.”


End file.
